


Grief Like Fear

by Dream Painter (randomelity)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Gen, Profanity, Self-Harm, Substance Abuse, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 39,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomelity/pseuds/Dream%20Painter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When tragedy befalls Ron, he finds himself drowning in grief and unable to face his friends. But help can come from unlikely sources; and he isn't the only one who knows a thing or two about loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> AU, basic canon through end of third year; will contain character death (on the outset), self-harm, suicide attempt, adoption, and profanity

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." - C.S. Lewis

* * *

"Does he really have no one, Albus?" the woman asked quietly.

The old wizard shook his head. "Nearly all his family were gathered together for his parents' anniversary, and his great-aunt is unable to care for the boy." His eyes, for once entirely void of their frequent twinkle, rested on the youth sitting a short distance away, staring expressionlessly into the barren fireplace. Minerva McGonagall, on the other hand, couldn't bear to witness his grief-induced numbness.

"There have been rumors of former Death Eater activity," she murmured, "attacks against muggleborns and marked blood traitors, but this – Albus, what about..?"

"I have contacted both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. We will not be having the Tournament next school year. After this, it just wouldn't be wise."

"Nor in good taste," Minerva agreed, finally turning her gaze on the boy. "What are we going to do with him?"

"I think the best thing would be to take him back to Hogwarts, Minerva, away from all this," Dumbledore replied. "There should be no reason why he can't stay in his dormitory for the rest of the summer. I do want Poppy to put him on a Watch, though."

"A Watch? Albus, surely you don't think the boy would-would..."

"Minerva, he has lost his entire family in one fell swoop, and I would think that he wasn't meant to be absent from the house at the time it happened. It's the perfect recipe for Survivor's Guilt, wouldn't you say?"

Studying the boy, Minerva nodded slowly.

"I'll leave you to bring him along when you feel he's ready," Albus told her. "Meanwhile, I shall go and speak with the rest of the staff."

"Very well, Albus. I'll bring him shortly."

"Take your time." The headmaster turned and left as the Transfiguration teacher approached the boy sitting in a broken chair, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her with such despair in his eyes, that she had to struggle to keep from weeping for him that very moment. For several seconds, she simply stood there, wishing to convey her condolences but knowing that words could never be enough.

"Mr. Weasley... Ron," she finally spoke, her voice soft, "come, I'm taking you to stay at Hogwarts."

Managing a barely perceptible nod, the redhead rose to his feet. He glanced once more around the last standing room of his ruined home, numbly noting that his younger sister's textbook was still open from when she'd been studying that morning. Drawing in a trembling breath, he headed out the door.

They were gone.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Ronald Weasley sat staring down at the tabletop as the rest of the students entered the Great Hall. He had told Professor McGonagall that he'd be alright to join the others for the Welcoming Feast. He'd been certain of it, too, until his peers began to trickle into the room. Several of them got looks of pity on their faces upon seeing him seated at the Gryffindor table. Others started to whisper amongst themselves. Some of them, Ron didn't even know.

He found himself wishing he could sink into the floor or be transported to the kitchens like the leftovers. As neither happened to be an option, Ron remained rooted in his seat with his eyes fixed on an empty platter, his ears, neck, and face matching the color of his hair. Perhaps, he should have begged off, after all. Maybe, he still could.

As he was contemplating this, the seats on either side of him were taken. A quick glance, left, then right, confirmed that his two best friends had joined him. They wore matching expressions of grief mingled with sympathy and – unable to endure it even from them – Ron looked back at the table, unbidden tears springing to his eyes.

"Ron," Hermione was the first to attempt to speak. "I'm..." She trailed off as the redhead drew in a sharp breath.

" _Don't_ ," he whispered desperately, "just... please don't." He scrunched his eyes shut, causing a pair of tears to course down his freckled cheeks.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a helpless look, but remained silent. What could they possibly say? Even they felt the loss of the other Weasleys quite keenly. Ginny had been one of Hermione's only girl friends, whereas Harry had considered Mr. and Mrs. Weasley almost like second parents, not to mention that he'd built a great rapport with the twins through Quidditch. They themselves hurt over the staggering loss – how much more so must their friend?

"Hey, Ron." Ron lifted his gaze to the dark-skinned boy who had paused across from him, along with a girl whose complexion was a similar shade of brown. "How're – that is..."

"C'mon, Lee, just move along," said the girl, giving him a shove and thereby ending his stammering. She turned back to Ron, her chocolate eyes overly bright. "I'm so sorry, Ron," she murmured thickly, before quickly following her classmate. The three fourth-years watched as Angelina caught up with Lee and slapped him on the arm, apparently berating him for being an idiot.

Seeing the twins' two closest friends caused Ron's heart to throb intensely. And the reminders were everywhere: some of Ginny's classmates sat in a huddled group a few meters away, several of the students Percy used to study with stood at the end of the Ravenclaw table, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were just entering the Great Hall together. Some of the most potent memories, however, were brought to the surface by the very people sitting on either side of him.

Ron rose to his feet, earning concerned glances from his two best friends. "I can't," he choked out, fighting back the tears. "I'll see you back in the tower." With that, he hurried from the room, even as everyone else was taking a seat at the tables.

Hermione stood to go after him, but Harry put a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head. "Leave him be."

"But, Harry -" she began.

"Just  _leave him be_ , Hermione!" Harry snapped. "What would you even say to him, huh? Everything you say is going to hurt him. He doesn't want to talk about it right now."

"But, Harry, he's going to have to talk about it sometime!" Hermione cried. "Otherwise, it will just eat away at him. He's got to be horribly depressed..."

"His entire family was murdered less than two months ago," the boy hissed, low enough to avoid being overhead in the noisy hall. "And everybody knows about it! Of course, he's depressed. Wouldn't you be? That doesn't mean 'sometime' has be right now. Leave him be."

"Fine," she relented, "but I'm not going to keep doing so, Harry. Ron  _needs_  us."

"I know, Mione. We'll go find him as soon as the Sorting and announcements are finished." Hermione nodded in agreement and they turned their attention to the front, anxiously waiting for the Feast to get under way.

0o0o0o0

Minerva McGonagall frowned to herself upon noting that Ron wasn't where she had left him before she went to greet the first-years. No doubt, the poor boy decided the Welcoming Feast was too much for him to handle, after all. His two closest friends, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, appeared to be having some sort of argument. They seemed to come to an agreement as their Head of House led the new students across the platform.

She was worried about the boy. Though, Ron hadn't been entirely closed off, she couldn't help but feel that the child had yet to fully mourn his loss. He ate without appetite, and spoke only when spoken to. He avoided what he could of those things which reminded him of his family; he wouldn't even look at his little owl, which – as she understood it – had been named by his younger sister.

 _Such a tragedy,_  she thought, yet again.  _Arthur and Molly had always been such pleasant people, even when they were students. And their siblings! All of them lost in the first war. Now this. Poor, dear boy. None of his family deserved this._

The rest of the staff had not failed to note the Weasley boy's exit, either, as a good many had had to keep reminding themselves to stop staring at him. Many had been at the school over the summer break and had seen him at meals and about the grounds, though, few had actually spoken to him.

A surprised Professor Sprout had put Ron to work one afternoon when he asked her if she needed any help in the greenhouses.

Professor Sinistra was startled to discover him sprawled on the floor of the Astronomy Tower one night.

Madam Hooch opened up the broom shed so the boy could do some flying one day, only to have him turn around almost the instant he was in the air and silently hand the broom back to her.

He'd spent the majority of August avoiding Professor Burbage after running into the woman while she was carrying a box brimming with Muggle artifacts for her class.

In fact, the only creature Ron hadn't tried to avoid at some point over the summer was Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris. The large Maine Coon seemed to have taken a liking to the fourteen-year-old and could often be found in his company, her bright copper eyes gazing reproachfully at any who dared to approach, her own master included.

Strangely, however, it was Ron's least favorite teacher who was most able to sympathize with him. Potions Master Severus Snape had watched the boy with a twinge of guilt and unease – the former because had he not be abroad for his research most of the summer, he probably could have warned Albus about the attack against the Weasleys; the latter was due to the fact that the boy's current circumstances reminded him all too keenly of his own fourth year of school. No child deserved to lose the people they cared about.

Albus Dumbledore wore a grave expression. Now the real test began: Ron Weasley had learned to function in a near-empty castle, but could he learn how to survive again in a thriving school, surrounded by frequent reminders of all he had so recently lost?

The old man hoped that time would have a happy tale to tell.

0o0o0o0

They stepped quietly through the portrait hole, looking about the deserted common room before making their way to the stairs and up to the boys' dormitories. Harry opened the door to the room shared by the fourth-year boys, uncertain what to expect. Hermione pushed her way in from behind him.

Ron looked from repacking his schoolbag. "Hey, guys," he said, "is the Feast over already?" Harry couldn't recall ever seeing Ron's area so tidy.

"We weren't all that hungry," Hermione told him.

"Really? Me, neither," Ron returned. He was speaking in such an ordinary tone, as though nothing was remiss, like this was any other first night back. It made the pain he must be bravely trying to conceal seem all that more immense. "So, are you both ready for term to start? I think I must have finished my homework  _ages_  ago."

"I'm all finished," Hermione confirmed, willing to play along for the moment. Any other words would have failed her just then, anyway. "I even got in some extra studying. I read this one book..."

"And what about you, Harry?" the redhead asked, interrupting the girl before she could launch into what would undoubtedly be a lengthy tale. Hermione glared at him reprovingly and he managed an impish grin, though, it didn't quite reach his eyes. "How was your summer?"

Harry's shoulders tensed ever-so-slightly, but he maintained a neutral expression. "Oh, you know," he answered nonchalantly, "the usual: too many chores and not enough food. And I got to listen to Dudley whine about being on a diet all summer. I managed to get most of my school work done on the train, but I'll have the finish the rest of it tonight."

"You can copy off mine," Ron offered.

"Ronald!"

"Or not," he amended sheepishly. "Maybe next time, mate."

"It's alright," the other boy shrugged. "I don't have that much left to do, anyway."

They lapsed into an awkward silence and after a moment, Harry pulled out his incomplete homework while Hermione volunteered to go over the boys' finished assignments. When the others arrived, they fell into their start-of-term routines quietly.

And not one of them commented about having a girl in their room.


	3. Chapter 3

" _Ronald Weasley! You come back here, right this instant!"_

_The screen door slammed open; footsteps stomped down the weathered steps from the porch and tramped across the grass..._

" _Let him sulk a bit – he'll come back when he's hungry."_

_The ground dropped away, long swaying grass becoming a blanket of green. Calloused hands gripped the old broomstick, its rider hovering over the treetops..._

_A pulse of magic rippled through the air. He turned to look back over his shoulder, where the roof of the Burrow had been visible in the distance._

_Shock._

_Horror._

_It hung in the air like a stain, sickly green sparks blurring together to form a nearly-solid image of a gaping skull, a snake protruding from its mouth. The Dark Mark!_

_He was laying flat against the broomstick, pushing it to its utmost speed and beyond. The upper levels of his home had been knocked to the ground. Some parts were completely demolished, others were ablaze. There was no sign of life._

_Wait! There! Moving across the back field from the house..._

No!

_He landed swiftly, dropping the broom and running towards his sibling. "Ginny!" He caught the girl as she stumbled. Slowly, he lowered them both to the ground, cradling her in his lap. Drawing his hand away from her back, he found it covered in blood._

" _Ron," it was both a sob and a sigh of relief. Ginny's face was drawn in pain, her gentle brown eyes overly bright._

" _Ginny," he brushed the hair out of her face, "Ginny, what happened?"_

" _The wards... fell," she answered haltingly. "Death Eaters were everywhere. Dad and Charlie... almost immediately. Killing curse. They disconnected the floo. Percy tried to call for help. Bill an-and Fred pushed me out the door. Told me... run. Hit – I was hit... in the back. Dunno what happened to them. Everyone was fighting..."_

Merlin, no...

_Ginny raised a hand to his cheek, speaking hurriedly. "I love you, Ronnie." Tears trailed down her face. "So glad you're safe. For years and years..."_

Not this. Not again!

" _... my best friend."_

" _Mine, too," he told her, his tone thick. "You still are, Gin, right along with Hermione and Harry..."_

" _Never... told him I like him."_

" _You still can, Ginny. You just gotta hang in there. Someone will have noticed the wards failed – they'll be here soon! You just gotta hang in there..."_

_His sister gazed at him sadly, a final tear streaming down her cheek even as her eyes began to dim. "Sorry..." she whispered softly. She did not draw in another breath._

" _Gin? … GIN?"_

"GINNY!" Ron screamed, sitting bolt upright. Heart-rending sobs began to shake his body and he stuffed his hand in his mouth, biting down in an attempt to stifle them.

He'd already been heard, however, by everyone in the room and quite possibly the whole tower. His bed hangings were thrown back and Harry was there at his side, hand on his shoulder to anchor him to the present.

"Ron. Ron, stop biting your hand," Harry told him, gently wrapping his fingers around his friend's wrist, but not pulling. "Ron, stop it – you're hurting yourself!"

Ron finally relaxed his jaw so Harry could withdraw his arm. Not caring at all whether boys should hug or not, Harry put his arms around his now quietly weeping friend. He had to bite down on his lip momentarily as Ron accepted the comfort with a crushing embrace of his own, but he said nothing, simply letting the other boy cry.

"We need to see Madame Pomfrey about your hand," Harry said softly when the redhead finally pulled away.

Dull, blue eyes fell upon their owner's right hand, which had already become very swollen.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

Ron shook his head. "Can't feel anything," he mumbled. His friend gave his shoulder a squeeze, then stood, gently pulling on his arm until he rose from the mattress.

Harry didn't try to make conversation as he guided him towards the hospital wing, for which Ron was extremely grateful. Harry wouldn't try to make him talk before he was ready. Hermione would, but Harry wouldn't. Harry knew something of painful memories and not wishing to share them. Harry might even understand a bit.

So, they arrived at the hospital wing in silence. Madame Pomfrey emerged from her office in her nightdress and robe a moment later, alerted to their arrival by the nighttime alarm on the entrance to the ward.

"What is it?" she asked worriedly, spelling on some of the lights as she rushed over to them. "What happened?"

"He hurt his hand, Madame," Harry told her, lifting said appendage and giving it over to her as easily as if it weren't attached to Ron at all.

Poppy drew in a sharp breath as she looked at the injury. "Good heavens! Is that..?" she began.

"He had a nightmare," the dark-haired boy offered when his friend made no move to speak.

Worry co-mingled with sympathy on the mediwitch's face briefly before she was in professional mode. "Have him sit on the bed over there, Mr. Potter," she directed. "I need to get a few potions, then I'll be right back."

Harry did as he was told, standing beside Ron as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Quietly, he watched as his friend stared down at his hand in an almost vacant sort of fascination. He almost didn't hear the words that passed his lips.

"I still bleed."

0o0o0

By Tuesday, Ron's hand was still bandaged and sore. Self-inflicted wounds took longer to heal, even with the aid of potions and magic. Though Ron hadn't consciously intended to do so, the damage had been done by his own teeth. It would be another two or three days before he could take the bandage off and at least a week beyond that before he regained full function of his hand.

They were in Potions class, Harry and Hermione looking on anxiously as he attempted to cut his daisy roots left-handed, as it was too painful to grip the knife in his right. The girl was just debating whether she should mention their friend's problem to the professor when the Potions Master made his way over to the table Ron and Harry were sharing.

"I do believe the directions call for the daisy roots to be  _sliced_  evenly, Mr. Weasley," Snape drawled. If he noticed Ron's flinch at his surname, he made no mention of it. "You are right-handed, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Ron answered quietly.

"Then, why are you trying to prepare your ingredients with your left hand?"

"I-I hurt my hand, sir."

"Let me see."

The redhead extended his hand towards the professor who gently took it in his own, turning it carefully by the wrist.

"I see that Madame Pomfrey has it partially immobilized," noted Snape as he released his light hold on the boy's arm. "I imagine that would it make it quite difficult to hold your tools properly."

"It does, sir," Ron murmured. He had kept his gaze fixed on the tabletop and continued to do so.

"Next time, bring a note," the professor admonished severely, then snapped, "Mr. Potter, you will assist your classmate."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. He exchanged a look with Hermione as the man stalked away. Why hadn't he taken points? Turning back to his own table, he pulled Ron's ingredients towards him and began slicing.

0o0o0

The second day of classes had finally ended. Harry and Hermione had tried to get him to visit Hagrid with them, but he just wanted to be alone. His nerves felt raw from the constant press of people all around him, all seeming to stare at him, all knowing of his agony and whispering about it, passing it about by word of mouth as though it were a rumor made for that purpose.

Ron just felt that he couldn't take it, anymore. So, he had withdrawn from the presence of his friends and schoolmates, gathering numbness about him like a cloak as he trekked away to an abandoned corner of the castle. Halfway to his destination, Mrs. Norris had parted company from her master and fallen in step behind him.

The long corridor leading out to the East Tower was never used. Neither elves nor Filch had even bothered to clean it, leaving the floor and the few forgotten wall hangings covered in a thick layer of dust. Only two tracks disturbed the thin blanket of grit; one that of a boy and the other of large, domestic feline.

Said boy now sat atop the East Tower, one cheek pressed against the cool, rough stone of the outer wall. A faint breeze ruffled his hair as his blue eyes gazed, unseeing, into the distance. The feline sat beside him, also staring out over the landscape.

"It's quiet here," Ron murmured.

Mrs. Norris, seldom one to speak, gave a hoarse meow in agreement.


	4. Chapter 4

"... moving like you're sore!" Hermione was admonishing Harry as Ron approached them. The redhead had insisted that they go on to breakfast ahead of him and his two friends had reluctantly complied after he promised he would join them in a bit. He had wanted to give some of the other students a chance to finish their meal before he ventured into the Great Hall.

"I said I was fine," Harry snapped with more venom than usual. "Just drop it, already!"

"What are you talking about?" Ron queried as he took a seat next to the dark-haired boy.

"Harry's been moving stiffly," Hermione announced, folding her arms and shooting the boy in question a challenging glare.

"And I already  _told_  you that I just slept wrong," he retorted defensively.

"Three nights in a row? I know the girls' mattresses aren't  _that_  uncomfortable!"

It was Harry's turn to glare, but Hermione simply shot Ron a look. One that specifically said that something was obviously wrong with Harry and he should help pressure him into saying what it was. Ron knew that she was probably right. She was usually right. And maybe it made him a bad friend, but Harry was insistent that Hermione was wrong and at the moment, he just couldn't bring himself to care.

So, he shrugged.

"Maybe the guys have harder mattresses," he suggested, grabbing a piece of toast. From the corner of his eye, he could tell that Hermione was gaping and Harry was giving her a triumphant smirk, but he made no further comment. The rest of the meal passed in relative silence.

0o0o0

Ron wandered the corridors, not paying much attention to his surroundings. He was vaguely aware that some people had turned onto the hall behind him, but as he had yet to reach a less traversed portion of the castle, it really came as no surprise. The boy was content to remain in his numb haze, ignoring those coming and going in both directions and paying no mind to the undisguised footfalls.

Or, at least, he had been.

"Oh, look, it's Weasley," a feminine voice spoke up loudly. Ron flinched at the name.

"You're  _right,_ " responded another, every bit as audibly. "He's seemed a bit sad lately, hasn't he?"

"Well, you know," said the first girl, "his  _whole_  family was killed."

"All of them?"

"All of them."

Ron kept walking, hunching in on himself miserably. He remained silent.

"No wonder he seems so sad," crooned the second voice with false sympathy. "After growing up with  _all_  those siblings, it must be so  _lonely_ , being the only one left." This was followed by a volley of giggles from more than just the two who were speaking.

"Poor wittle Weasley," cooed her friend, though, her tone clearly indicated that she was enjoying herself. "Is that why you're sad? Do you miss all your brudders an' wittle sissy?"

The boy bit his lip, readying himself to break into a run, when a person walking a short distance ahead of him halted abruptly and whirled on the group behind him.

"Shut up, Pansy, you brainless cow!" they spat. "Bet your uncle was there, wasn't he?" A finger was thrust towards the other girl with Pansy, then at the boy a short distance back. "And what about you? Where were your parents, huh? Oh, and I haven't the slightest doubt your dad was there, Theo. And you!" The rant was now directed at a platinum blond standing nearly even with the two girls. In fact, there was quite a number of other students in the corridor, most of them Slytherins.

"Me?" Malfoy scoffed, donning a shocked expression.

"Yes, you. Your sleazy father was probably behind it all," Ron's defender growled, then continued mockingly. "And aren't you all so _very_  proud? You're all related to murderers who slaughtered an unsuspecting family all in the name of a stupid wizard who was defeated thirteen years ago by a  _baby_! Maybe you didn't get the memo, but the Dark Lord is DEAD! You're bloody damn idiots – every last one of you!"

"Now, listen here," Malfoy began threateningly, his expression black as he took a step forward.

"What's going on here?" a new voice demanded. Professor McGonagall strode through the small crowd of students. No one volunteered an answer, but after a glance at the miserable-looking Ron, she had a pretty good idea. "Move along," she ordered. The students quickly dispersed and soon only Ron and his defender were left with the professor.

Ron looked up at the girl. He couldn't recall ever hearing her string together more than five words at a time, yet, in a single tirade she had just insulted You-Know-Who and a large number of her housemates. Now, she was gazing at him uncertainly, as though she wanted to say something else.

"Did you need anything, Miss Bulstrode?" McGonagall asked her curtly.

The Slytherin shook her head. "No, ma'am," she murmured.

"Then, I think it would be best if you went about your own business," said the professor. "I believe you have homework due Friday, am I correct?"

"Yes'm." She hurried down the hall and turned a corner. Ron watched her go, unsure what to think. Of all the people to come to his aid, he would never have suspected Millicent Bulstrode.

"Are you alright, Mr. Weasley?" his Head of House inquired, drawing his attention back to her. Meeting her gaze with anguished blue eyes, he shook his head. "Would you like me to escort you back to your common room?"

Ron considered this for a moment. He didn't really want to be around anyone, but he didn't think McGonagall would let him be alone. Finally, he gave a short nod. The woman gently placed a hand on his shoulder and they quietly made their way to Gryffindor Tower.

A concerned pair of hazel eyes watched from just around the corner as they left.

0o0o0

When Double Potions arrived on Friday, Ron had expected more barbs from the Slytherins. A few of them had shot him various looks and whispered amongst themselves, but otherwise left him alone, for which he was grateful. He and Harry worked together quietly, Harry cutting and grinding while Ron made sure they added the right quantities at the proper time. Ron was just glad Snape had had them pair up for the day's class, as he still didn't have much use of his hand.

"What, pray tell," Snape's silky tone suddenly demanded from the back of the room, "is  _that_  supposed to be?" Everyone's head turned to look, Ron wondering which Gryffindor the Potions Master was picking on since Neville was seated in front of him.

Only it wasn't a Gryffindor.

Millicent Bulstrode stared determinedly at her cauldron, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She was alone at the back table and even the table right in front of hers was empty, her housemates having crowded a bit to fit at the others.

"Sorry, sir," she whispered, though, everyone heard it because the whole class was paying attention. The girl bit her lip again to keep in from trembling. A few laughs came from the Slytherins.

"What did you do? Take lessons from Longbottom?" Snape taunted, then called over his shoulder, "Longbottom! What color is your potion?"

Neville, who was working with Seamus, answered hesitantly. "B-brown, sir."

"So, apparently not," the man continued to address the girl snidely, the displeasure in his voice palpable, "as it seems even  _he_  has gotten it right, for once. Which begs the question, if Longbottom has managed to get a  _brown_  potion, what exactly did you do to obtain such a unique shade of  _violet_?" The girl flinched. "Miss Bulstrode, why are you working alone? Did I not specifically tell all of you to work in pairs?"

"Sorry," Bulstrode repeated, even softer than before.

" _Evanesco_ ," the man snapped out, vanishing her potion. "Whatever is going on between you and your classmates, you'd best resolve it, Miss Bulstrode, because I will not have you destroying my classroom and endangering others. Fifteen points from Slytherin -" (At this, the other Slytherins, and even a few Gryffindors, gave a collective gasp.) "- and detention this evening. Seven o'clock. Anyone else whose potion is a shade of purple may leave,  _now_."

He stalked to the front of the class and everyone turned their attention back to their work. Bulstrode remained standing at the table for a minute, biting down on her lip as she garnered venomous glances from her housemates. Finally, she put away her belongings and left. There was still half an hour left of class and most still had two or three steps before they were finished.

"Wonder what that was about?" Harry murmured quietly.

Ron shrugged indifferently, measuring out the armadillo bile they would need. His mind wasn't entirely on his work, however, as a small part of him idly wondered if those had actually been tears he'd seen in the Slytherin's eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

The man winced as his quill snapped in his hand and bit into calloused flesh. Throwing the useless writing implement aside, he used his wand to heal the small cut on his finger before casting a tempus charm. Twelve more minutes. He gazed out over his classroom, suppressing a shudder as he again had to banish the image that had been taunting him off and on over the last few hours.

He reached into his drawer for another quill, idly noting that if he broke too many more, he'd have to purchase some. Perhaps it might have been best if he put off grading until the following day, but he had no intention of doing so.

At exactly five minutes to the hour, someone stopped outside the door to his classroom. It was two more minutes, however, before there was a timid knock.

"Come," the Potions Master commanded.

Millicent Bulstrode quietly opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her. After a brief hesitation, she moved forward, stopping a short distance away, her gaze fixed determinedly upon the ink pot sitting on the professor's desk.

Snape eyed her critically. Miss Bulstrode was respectful and well-behaved, even if she wasn't the best student. Apart from her brief scuffle with the Granger girl in second year during the failure that was the 'dueling club', she had never been in any trouble.

"Who sabotaged your potion, Miss Bulstrode?"

The girl looked up, hazel eyes wide in surprise. "Sir?"

"Not even the worst student would be daft enough to mistakenly put Ashwinder eggs into a potion which does not call for them," the man sneered. "As you have hitherto consistently received no less than an Acceptable in my class, it leads me to conclude that you were not responsible for such an egregious error."

"E-egregious, sir?" his student echoed. Though Snape had no doubt the word was foreign to the girl, her drawn expression made it clear that she had caught on to the solemnity of the situation.

"Do you know what would have happened had you added the armadillo bile to the mixture you had in your cauldron?" He waited for her to shake her head before continuing severely. "You would have been killed. Your cauldron would have exploded with enough violence to make Longbottom's blunders look like simple mistakes. Several of your classmates would have had to go to the hospital wing and if, by some miracle, you managed to survive, you would have been incurably disfigured.

"Now," he leaned forward over his desk as his voice became dangerously quiet, "who sabotaged  _your potion_?"

"I don't know, sir," Millicent whispered, trembling slightly, unable to look away.

Snape studied her solemnly for a long moment. "At least tell me it wasn't one of your housemates."

"I don't know, sir," she repeated honestly, "but... I don't think it was the Gryffindors." She finally managed to redirect her gaze, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

The man pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off his impending headache. "Miss Bulstrode, to my knowledge, you have never had trouble with your housemates before, which begs the question, 'why are you having them, now?' What happened?" he demanded.

Miss Bulstrode briefly met his gaze before staring over his right shoulder. Slowly, she simply shook her head. He hadn't really expected her to answer, anyway.

"Professor McGonagall seemed to think there had been some sort of confrontation," he informed her. "She believed it somehow involved Mr. Weasley and your yelling at a good number of your housemates."

The girl's gaze snapped to his. "They were mocking his family," she responded angrily, "Pansy Parkinson and that hateful Annia Rosier. Everyone was laughing like it was some sort of joke!"

"And so you rushed to his aid like a mindless Gryffindor," her Head of House surmised.

"I couldn't just keep quiet!" Miss Bulstrode exclaimed.

_Interesting... The girl has a temper. I wonder why she_ _is_ _taking this so personally._  "What did you say?"

She looked momentarily surprised by this inquiry, but then her expression hardened and she raised her chin willfully. "I'm not sorry!" she declared, but the trembling of her hands belied the stubborn confidence of her tone.

"I didn't ask you to be," Snape said mildly, "I asked what you said." As uncertainty flashed noticeably across the teen's features, the Potions Master reflected that she wasn't the most Slytherin of his students.

"I told them they were idiots for following a wizard who's been dead for thirteen years."

_That_  would certainly explain her new status as house pariah – even those students not from families faithful to Voldemort's cause would stay away from her, simply to avoid the wrath of those who were. It also answered the question of the Bulstrode family's loyalties, or that of their daughter, in any case. Though, of an old pureblood line, the Bulstrode family was small and had long kept themselves out of the spotlight. They had been practically invisible during the war.

"Would your need to insult your housemates be the reason that you haven't been staying in your dorm?" the man inquired.

Miss Bulstrode set her jaw and directed her gaze over his shoulder, again.

_Back to not answering, I see._  "Students are not to be out after curfew." Still no answer. "Have you not been told the password to get into the common room?"

"I'm not saying that password," she gritted out through clenched teeth, though her eyes appeared to be overly bright.

"So, you do know the password." A nod. "What is it?"

And now the professor was certain the girl's eyes were filled with tears. He was just about to demand an answer when she bit out a response: "Fatty Bulstrode."

Snape frowned. Bullying, and within his own House. He didn't like it, especially as it was never a good sign. All too often, simple name-calling become something far more malevolent. He needed to examine the situation before he made a decision on how to proceed. Rising to his feet, he moved towards the door. "Come."

Millicent quietly trailed after her Head of House, gaze fixed on the hem of his billowing robes. She gripped tightly at the strap of her book bag.  _Stupid Millie_ , she thought to herself.  _Couldn't even keep your bloody mouth shut._  To her dismay, it seemed that it was becoming a habit of hers, lately – speaking when she intended to remain quiet. She didn't  _want_  to be at odds with her housemates, and she certainly didn't want the professor to think she couldn't handle her own problems.

_Getting all teary-eyed over a few mean names,_  she silently scoffed,  _as if you haven't heard it all before._  The girl halted just in time to avoid colliding with the man, belatedly noting that he had stopped outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room. A flush spread across her cheeks as she realized the implications of their current location.  _Shoulda kept my mouth shut..._

Snape murmured a password at the seemingly blank wall. To Millicent's relief, it was a professor override and not the one the prefects had changed it to. The door swung open and when the teen hesitated to step through the portal, her Head of House took her by the shoulder and steered her inside.

"House meeting," he gruffly informed a sixth-year prefect who was making her way to the door. The older girl eyed Millicent, pursing her lips distastefully.

"Yes, sir," she responded respectfully, nonetheless, turning back towards the common room to spread the word. A few second- and third-year boys rushed out a moment later, darting off down the corridor – ostensibly in search of Slytherins in other parts of the castle.

Fifteen minutes later, the last members of the house filed into the common room and gathered in front of the floo where Snape waited with arms folded across his chest. Millicent stood miserably beside him, face flushed as she stared down at her feet.

"At the beginning of each school year, what is the topic of our first house meeting?" the Potions Master questioned silkily once the room had fallen silent. "Miss Banner?" he demanded when no one moved to respond.

"H-house uni-unity, sir," the nervous second-year stammered.

"Mr. McFarland?"

"House unity, professor," the fifth-year answered calmly.

"House unity," Snape reiterated sharply. "It is true that this is largely for the benefit of the other houses; furthermore, I am not so ignorant as to expect all of you to get along, as some of you no doubt have  _conflicting_  points of view." Here, he cast a glare at Millicent, who flinched. "That does not mean I am going to stand by and watch while you attempt to  _murder_  one another right under my nose."

Various reactions spread through the gathered students, surprise and unease being the most prevalent among the fourth-years. The most notable response, in Snape's mind, was that of Theodore Nott. The boy's head shot up abruptly from where he'd been idly contemplating the rug. Shock, coupled with alarm, flashed through his eyes, followed by a flicker of relief as they darted to Bulstrode and noted that she was unharmed. Seconds later, his eyes became as unreadable as the rest of his expression.

_Not part of the Potions incident_ , Snape decided,  _or at least, not with the intent of permanently harming Miss Bulstrode._  He glanced over the faces of his house, taking in the various expressions. There was not as much remorse or concern as he would have liked. In fact, several students looked rather smug at the indication that Miss Bulstrode could have been killed.

The Potions Master felt himself suppressing an aggravated sigh.  _Stupid girl_ , he thought,  _couldn't have done something small when you caused waves, could you? You had to go and anger the entire sovereignty of Slytherin House._

Those students wielding power within the house nearly all had some connection to Death Eaters or families long immersed in the dark arts. Though, they didn't always work in tandem, they were seldom at odds with one another and they were each a force to be reckoned with. The other Slytherins either followed their directions or stayed out of their way.

Snape could not in good conscience leave Miss Bulstrode to their mercies – particularly since he knew that many of them had none.

"Fetch your things, Miss Bulstrode," he told the girl.

"Sir?" she questioned, looking up in surprise.

" _Fetch_  your  _things_ ," he repeated, "your trunk, clothing, school supplies. As you obviously can't keep your opinions to  _yourself_  and it seems I cannot trust the members of my own House not to behave like savages, you will no longer remain here. Now,  _move._ "

"Yes, sir."

The man watched as she shuffled towards her dormitory to obey. He did not miss the looks of unveiled hostility which followed her.


	6. Chapter 6

"Merlin – what'd you bring that thing in here for?"

Ron shot the seventh-year a half-hearted glare. "We won't be staying long," he mumbled as the portrait closed behind him. 'That Thing', better known as Mrs. Norris, lashed her tail irritably, staring balefully at the one who had insulted her from her perch upon Ron's shoulders.

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione exclaimed, spotting him on her way down the steps. She ran down the last few and hurried across the common room.

The redhead flinched.

" _Ronald Weasley!"_  the name echoed through his head in that familiar voice he would never hear again. How many times had he been scolded for sneaking food before dinner or fighting with his sister? Suddenly, he found himself wishing there had been some way to have kept the howler he'd received in second year, just so he could have some means by which to hear his mother's voice...

"... you been all night?" Hermione was berating him, ignorant of the detour his mind had just taken from the present. "You've been sneaking out after curfew all week, and last night, you never came back to the tower at all!"

Ron felt a flash of annoyance, and from his shoulder, Mrs. Norris gave an inaudible growl in response as she sensed his mood. "What were you doing? Keeping an eye on me or something?" he demanded.

"Yes!"

He hadn't expected such a straight-forward response and it left him momentarily off-balance.

"Ron, you're not supposed to be wandering around at night – you could get into trouble!"

"I'm aware of that, Hermione," Ron snapped at her. "I don't need a bloody nanny. Now, get out my way." He pushed her aside and made his way towards the steps leading up to the dorm.

"I know you don't, Ron," she said quickly as she followed. "I'm just worried about you. Harry and I both are."

"And I guess Harry's the one who's been helping you watch my every move," he scathed.

"We just want to make sure you're okay."

The boy whirled on her abruptly, upsetting Mrs. Norris from her perch, causing her to jump down to the immobile safety of the landing. "'Okay'?" he exclaimed, volume rising quickly. "You want to make sure I'm  _okay_? Well, I'm not okay! I'm NOT okay, at all!"

"Ron, I -"

"Wanna know  _why_  I've been sneaking out? Why I almost never come back to the tower, anymore?" he was shouting now, the attention of all those above and below focused on him. "Because I can't take it! It hurts too much! They should be here. My brothers and Ginny, they should be here! But they're the only ones who aren't and I can't forget that – I can't forget that when everything reminds me, everyone reminds me...

"And you know what? You and Harry make it the worst. The day they were all killed, y'know why I wasn't in the house? Because I was angry. I was mad, so I was throwing a fit. Know why? Because I wanted you and Harry to be there. I couldn't just be happy to spend time with my family, I had to have my friends, too. So, I stormed away when I should've just been happy to be with them. Then, they were all killed and the last thing I ever said to them was spoken in anger because I couldn't appreciate my own family," Ron's voice had dwindled down to a low, broken tone, and his blue eyes were brimming with anguish and tears. "And it hurts. It hurts to be here and see everyone acting like everything's the same as it's always been. Everyone reminds me, Hermione – and you and Harry make it the worst."

Hermione stared speechlessly back at him, her own cheeks streaked with tears. Unable to face her anymore, Ron turned to go back down the stairs, whatever he'd been going to the dorm for forgotten. He just wanted to escape and no one stood in his way as he made for the door, Mrs. Norris trotting along behind him.

Once he was gone, Hermione sank down to sit on the steps, bringing up her hands to cover her face as her shoulders began to shake. She couldn't have said whether she was crying over her friend's anguish or the rejection she could not help but feel at his words. Likely, it was a combination of both.

Somebody sat on the stair beside her and she didn't need to look up in order to know that it was Harry. As he wrapped an arm about her shoulders, she turned to bury her face against his chest.

"We can't help him," she sobbed. "We can't help him – we can only make it worse..."

Harry held his friend tightly, silently sharing in her grief and helplessness.

0o0o0

Ron rapidly traversed the castle's many staircases and corridors, his expression stormy. Inside, he felt raw, the agony of what he had just revealed seeming to set his very soul to throbbing. What kind of person could scarcely stand the contentment of others; could hardly look at his own closest friends? And yet, the mundane routine of his housemates, their casual conversations, their laughter – it all felt like a personal insult to his pain.

At first, he'd been able to suppress the hurt, the  _guilt_ , which accompanied every glance he had gotten of his best friends, but each day it had gotten harder and harder as the numbness he clung to so desperately slowly slipped away. Harry's reluctant smiles made him remember how Ginny's cheeks used to flush each time he did so. Hemione's quick bursts of temper reminded him of why the twins had loved to tease her. A certain tone that the girl often used had him recalling the time she had mockingly mimicked one of Percy's snobbiest moments; the expression his other friend wore while studying a particularly tricky topic was the way Charlie's had been while studying for his NEWTs. And it was with great agony that he realized Harry's tendency towards letting out surprised laughs sounded remarkably like Bill's short barks of laughter.

It did not help that looking at them reminded him of why he'd robbed himself of his final moments with his family.

So, he had withdrawn from the tower and his friends. He had hoped they would understand. He thought that Harry probably did – he seemed more attuned to the need for solitude – but Hermione... Hermione was different. Hermione had such a need to fix things, to make them better, that the only way to get her to back off was to be brutally honest with her. She'd had to know that she couldn't help him by the means she'd been trying. She could only hurt him more.

He'd made her cry, he was certain of it, but he could not bear her constant worry, her... her friendship itself. And now she had all the facts (or, most of them, anyhow). Now, she could understand a little and know why he needed to be left alone.

Rounding a corner, he practically ran over a diminutive first-year. "Watch where you're going!" he snarled viciously. The girl's face crumpled before she dashed off down the hall, quickly distancing herself from the irascible fourth-year. Ron glared after her before turning back, only to find himself facing yet another person, one significantly taller than him.

Snape eyed him coolly, dark gaze holding his own. Groaning internally, Ron waited for the man to dock points from him for existing.

"Come," the man said a moment later. The teen briefly considered protesting, but decided against it. Getting snappish with the Greasy Git always proved to be more trouble than it was worth. So, Ron followed the man, scowling the whole way.

It was really no surprise to the boy that they were headed for the dungeons. What did catch him off-guard, however, was the fact that they passed right by the Potions classroom and entered the room a few doors down. Predictably, it was a Potions lab, though, Ron wasn't sure if it was the man's private lab or not.

The Potions Master billowed into the room, leaving his student to close the door behind him. As the man collected several ingredients from the shelves and set them on one of the worktables, Ron watched from his position just inside the doorway.

Snape was lighting a fire under a large cauldron before he addressed him again. "I need the parsnips diced," he stated, nodding towards the carrot-like roots. "It would be best if the pieces were no wider than half a centimeter."

He said nothing more, so Ron crossed over to the roots and began dicing.  _Just great,_  the boy fumed.  _Detention for snapping at a younger student. She wasn't even a Slytherin. Hypocritical git..._

"You will cut yourself that way," Snape said after a moment, though, it didn't appear that he had looked at him at all as his gaze was fixed upon what he was doing. "Does your hand still trouble you?"

Ron couldn't help but blink in surprise. He looked down at the hand holding the knife. The bandage had been taken off a few days before, but a raised half-arc was still clearly visible around the knuckle where his teeth had torn through the flesh. That Snape would remember or even care about his injury baffled him.

The professor added another ingredient to the cauldron, stirring it three times before turning to face the boy. "Let me see," he commanded.

Slowly setting the knife down, Ron extended his arm towards the man, though, he couldn't have said why he was being so obedient. Maybe his earlier outburst had taken more out of him than he'd thought.

As he had done nearly a week before, Snape took the boy by the wrist, using his free hand to gently prod as the wound site. "No apparent swelling or infection," he stated in a clinical tone. "Does this hurt?" Ron shook his head. "And this?" Another head shake. "Make a fist."

The boy started to comply, curling his fingers against his palm. His index finger was mostly flexed before an uncomfortable twinge shot through his hand. " _Ouch_."

"I assume you are to see Madame Pomfrey, again?" the man asked.

"Yes, sir, this afternoon."

"Good. I am no mediwitch, but I would say you are healing just as you should be. A few more days and you should be left with little more than your own unique scar."

"Great," Ron muttered as the man released his arm, "Ron Weasley, the Bloke-Who-Bit-Himself."

An odd twitch seemed to momentarily attacked the corner of the man's mouth. "That is, perhaps, lacking the same esteem oft attributed to similar appellations," he drawled.

The fourteen-year-old stared at him. Had Snape just made a joke? He didn't have much time to contemplate this, though, as the professor maneuvered him in front of the cauldron. Taking up the knife, the Potions Master proceeded to dice the remaining roots himself. Ron watch with a bit of awe.  _How does he cut so quickly?_

"The ginger extract – there, to the left – pour it in gradually while stirring with slow, even strokes widdershins," the professor instructed. Ron did so, while Snape placed the diced parsnips in a neat pile closer to the cauldron. Reaching for a pestle and mortar, he started grinding the small seeds held in the stone dish. "Weigh out four and a half ounces of lacewing flies."

Thus time passed, Snape instructing Ron as he himself did most of the preparation work. All in all, it was the strangest detention he'd ever served under the man.

"What is this?" Ron wanted to know, sniffing at the grass-colored potion the ended up with. It even smelled like grass.

"A nutrient potion," his professor answered as he put things back on their shift. "It needs to cool before it can be decanted."

The boy watched quietly, but received no further directions. "Sir?" he asked finally.

"Yes?" the man uttered distractedly. Ron was fairly certain it was only an affectation, though.

"Am I finished?"

"Finished with what?"

The boy had braced for the 'Mr. Weasley', but it never came. Maybe the man was distracted... "With detention, sir."

"Did I say this was a detention?" Snape raised a questioning brow.

"No, but... It wasn't?" Ron questioned. "Then, why..?"

"It seemed you might need the distraction," the man replied simply. "You may leave whenever you wish."

Ron gaped. He  _had_  been distracted, simple as that. For the whole time they'd been working on the potion, he hadn't thought of his loss or his friends even once.  _How had Snape_ known _?_

"Thank you," he said softly – so softly, in fact, he wasn't sure the man would hear him. But Snape inclined his head, acknowledging the thanks, even as he prepared to brew another potion.

Quietly, the teen left the lab, pausing to lean against the wall outside the door. Closing his eyes, he felt a wave of irony wash over him. Never would he have imagined that it would be his most hated teacher who'd be the one to give him the greatest comfort.


	7. Chapter 7

"Look, it's Bulstrode," said a rather rotund boy with squinty eyes, "walking around all by herself."

"Leave her alone, Crabbe," one of his companions told him.

Crabbe blinked at the blond, his own light-brown hair hanging in his eyes. "But... she insulted us."

"That was her mistake," Malfoy told him in a tone of rapidly waning patience. "Ours would be to mess with her when the Professor has her marked off-limits." He continued down the corridor and Goyle followed without hesitation.

"C'mon, Vince," the taller boy beckoned to his friend when he hung back.

"She shouldn't get away with talkin' to us like that," Vincent protested, "'specially what she said 'bout your da, Malfoy."

"Do you really think my father cares what a  _blood-traitor_  has to say about him?" Draco sneered.

"We'll only get in trouble if we're caught," he said stubbornly.

"Are you trying to be funny, or are you really stupid enough to think that the Professor wouldn't catch us?"

"He hasn't found out who's responsible for ruining her potion," offered Gregory.

"It's only a matter of time," their leader scoffed. "Pansy's gonna wish she'd never been born once Uncle Sev discovers it was her. I, for one, prefer not to have my godfather tear strips off me. Now, let's go. And if you've any brains at all in that skull of yours, you'll leave Bulstrode well alone. There's plenty of others reckless enough to give her a hard time."

Crabbe continued to stare fixedly at where the black-haired girl had disappeared around a corner until Goyle tugged on his sleeve to prompt him into motion.

Malfoy shook his head at his companion's antics.  _Better watch your back, Millicent Bulstrode,_  he thought darkly,  _because your Slytherin brothers have disowned you..._

0o0o0

"Make a fist for me."

Ron slowly complied, not even bothering to flex his index finger completely after his attempt that morning when Snape had looked at his hand.

"Does that hurt?" Madame Pomfrey asked him.

"A little," he told her, allowing his hand to relax again at her nod.

"Try to complete your tasks as you normally would without straining your hand too much. If something hurts, stop doing it," she instructed him. "You'll have a bit of a scar, but your hand should be pretty much back to normal by the end of the week."

Ron had the urge to say what he'd uttered before when Snape had said almost the same exact thing, but decided the mediwitch probably wouldn't find it very amusing.

"I suppose that will be all." She sounded a bit disappointed by this. "I expect you to come see me immediately if you have any further problems, though, young man!"

"Yes, ma'am," Ron responded meekly. "May I go, now?"

"You may."

"Good," said another voice as the teen stood from the bed. "I see I've caught you just as you've finished."

The redhead looked up at his Head of House, whose stern gaze rested on him benignly. "Professor," he murmured in greeting.

"I wish to speak with you, Ron," she told him. He nodded, falling in step beside her as they left the hospital wing. "It is my understanding that you haven't been staying in your dorm at night."

"Harry and Hermione should keep their mouths shut," the boy grumbled malevolently.

"It was one of your prefects," McGonagall informed him. "Apparently, you've been avoiding the tower during the daytime, also. This did not seem to be the case during the summer. Mind telling me what is the matter?" Her tone further informed him that he would be telling her whether he minded or not.

"It was different," he said, not meaning for his voice to sound so broken. "It was easier... to pretend that – that they're not suppose to  _be there_. It was just... easier not to think about." Tears stung at his eyes and he quickly scrubbed them away with the palm of his hand.

"I doubt that having your housemates frequently asking after your welfare helps much, either," the witch stated knowingly.

"Not much," Ron agreed.

"Ron," Minerva said (he was glad that the woman had stopped referring to him as 'Mr. Weasley' over the summer), "I cannot allow you to wander about after curfew. It is simply against the rules. If there were to be some sort of emergency, the staff need to know where to locate each of the students."

"Professor, please!" He could not imagine being confined to the tower for so many hours, listening to all the others talking, laughing, _breathing_. Feeling their eyes upon him, filled with pity, when they ought just mind their own business! He was not a subject for them to study; his grief was not for them to observe like some idle entertainment. It was bad enough that he had to be surrounded,  _smothered,_  all day in classes. He did not think he could endure it all night, as well.

The Transfiguration professor held up a hand to stall further pleading. "I cannot be permit you to wander around after curfew, but," she gave a sigh that Ron wasn't entirely sure how to decipher, "arrangements can be made for you to stay elsewhere if you feel that remaining among your housemates brings back too many painful memories."

"Really?" Ron peered into her face, scarcely daring to hope that he'd heard her correctly. If he didn't have to stay in the dorm anymore...

"Really. If you'd like to go pack your things, we can have you settled in by this evening, if you'd like."

A lump inexplicably lodged itself in his throat, making it difficult to speak. "I would," he managed. "I'd like that. Professor – I  _need_ that!"

His Head of House gently squeezed his shoulder. "I thought you might," she told him. "Shall I come collect you after dinner, then?" The boy nodded emphatically. "Very well, Ron. Consider it done."

The fourth-year offered up the most sincere smile she had seen from him in awhile before hurriedly making his way up the staircases, ostensibly to put all his things into his trunk. Minerva heaved another sad sigh as she wended her own way to the headmaster's office.

One of her students would soon be leaving her domain and no one could be certain for how long.

0o0o0

Ron looked about his new room after he'd finished unpacking. It was small and simply decorated. A variegated rug rested on the floor, adding a layer of warmth against the cold stone underneath. The bed stood across from the door and was covered with a brown and tan comforter. A desk stood beneath the window looking out over the Forbidden Forest and against the adjacent wall was the wardrobe and a set of drawers. In the corner nearest the door sat a brown armchair.

Professor McGonagall had told him that he could change the color scheme, but Ron found that he was rather content with the lack of house colors. He hadn't realized how grating the Gryffindor crimson and gold had become on his nerves.

The boy stretched out on his new bed. It hadn't taken him long to pack everything he had in the dorm. He had done so during dinnertime to avoid seeing any more people than necessary. Fortunately, he only ran into one person: Harry.

" _Going somewhere?" the black-haired boy had asked, opening his own trunk to sift through its contents._

" _Yeah," Ron had answered quietly. "I'm moving. Somewhere else, I mean. I'm not staying in the dorm, anymore."_

_Harry nodded slowly. "Sorry to see you go."_

" _Harry -"_

" _I'm not going to try and convince you to stay," his friend assured him. "You need to do what's best for you. I can sorta understand, but you're my best mate, Ron. Even if I do see you in class, I'm going to miss you."_

" _I'll be in class," Ron said, then shut his eyes against the emotions that threatened to wash over him. "Harry, about earlier..."_

" _Hermione will be alright. She's a bit upset that she can't find a way to help you, but she'll be okay. I'll look after her – and I'll tell everyone else not to bug you about this."_

" _Thanks."_

_Harry gave him a small smile, waving the book he had fished out of his trunk. "See you around, Ron."_

" _See you, Harry..."_

The redhead returned to the present, blue eyes fixed upon the doors of his wardrobe. Casting a quick tempus charm, he decided to take a short walk before curfew, his homework for the weekend having been finished sometime the previous night. He grabbed the room key from the hook beside the door before heading off down the hall.

In the opposite direction, at the junction between two colliding corridors, was Professor Burbage's quarters. Charity Burbage was the staff member in charge of overseeing the secondary student living quarters. When there was anyone staying in them, that is. Ron had been more or less avoiding her for the past month. The Muggle Studies professor seemed kind enough – nor had she given the boy reason to believe otherwise – but ever since he'd run into her carrying a box of things that looked like they could have come straight from his dad's collection, he hadn't been too keen on getting any closer than necessary to her.

On the first floor, Ron was joined by a long-furred feline with coppery-red eyes. The boy crouched down to stroke the cat and her chest soon began to vibrate with an inaudible purr.

"Mrs. Norris, my sweet..." A thin, willowy man with gaunt features and harsh, yellowish eyes rounded the corner a moment later, slowing to a halt as his gaze fell upon Ron. "Oh. It's you, again," he muttered. Mrs. Norris eyed her master reprovingly as the teen halted his ministrations and rose to his feet.

Ron mumbled something that couldn't quite pass as 'sir', gazing at the caretaker dispassionately.

"Prowling about again, I see," Filch continued with a faint sneer. "Ye know what they say about children who are constantly sneaking about – they're nothin' but trouble, that's what."

"I'm just taking a walk before curfew, sir," Ron responded a bit heatedly.

"Likely story." The man didn't sound the least convinced. Mrs. Norris flicked her tail, gazing with some interest at a broken quill dropped by a student earlier in the day.

The boy shrugged, struggling to keep his own expression neutral. Why did the stupid ol' git have to be so nasty all the time?

"Be sure to keep yer nose outta trouble, boy," the squib threatened, pointing a long, bony finger at him, "and unless ye're wanting to scrub toilets th'rest of the night, you'd best be where ye're s'posed to by curfew." With a final glower, he stalked away, his cat yawning in the wake of his departure.

"Your master's a git," Ron voiced his earlier thoughts to the feline. She gazed placidly back at him, her manner failing to indicate whether she agreed or not. The hint of a smile ghosted over his lips before he continued along the corridor, the caretaker's cat falling in step beside him.

0o0o0

_A few hours later..._

Another loud and hoarse-sounding meow made the man hasten across his narrow living room to open the door.

"Finally back, are ye?" he inquired, looking down at the Maine Coon sitting beyond his threshold. Mrs. Norris stared back up at him expectantly. Pulling his dressing gown tighter about himself, the caretaker stooped to gather his pet into his arms before promptly disappearing back inside.

Filch's quarters were very small – cramped, even – but he preferred them that way. He'd been raised in a large, sprawling mansion one could easily get lost within and had hated every minute. That was neither here nor there, of course. What mattered was that Filch's living space was just big enough to be cozy for him and his beloved cat and that was just how he liked it.

Shuffling into his tiny kitchenette, the man deposited the cat on the counter. Reaching into the cupboard, he retrieved a tin of tuna, which he then opened and set down for her to enjoy.

"Been keepin' a keen eye on the poor wretch, have ye?" he murmured quietly, stroking his companion's soft coat. A foreign emotion entered the cruel eyes. Had anyone been around to witness it, they may have been able to identify it as compassion, though, even that was doubtful. "That's my girl... Jus' don't go forgetting who ye're master is, now."

Mrs. Norris looked at him reproachfully.

The man chuckled fondly. "Bein' an idiot, ain't I? 'Course, ye won't forget..."

In another part of the castle, a young wizard stared up at the ceiling. A long while later, shortly before dawn, he finally fell into a restless slumber.


	8. Chapter 8

"Ron?"

" _Now, now – mind your temper, Ronnikins..."_

Ronald!

Ron Weasley...

" _You've got to tell me everything! Like what it's really like being at Hogwarts. And is Harry Potter really your best friend? What's he like? Is he nice? I heard that -"_

" _Take it easy, Gin! Let the guy breathe..."_

Percy steered him into one of the arm chairs in the common room. "Honestly, Ronald, your grade in Transfiguration is deplorable," he admonished. "Now, I'm only going to explain this once, so pay attention..."

A pulse of magic rippled the air...

" _Up you get." His father sat him upon the worktable where he was studying numerous muggle objects, before gingerly picking up a strange, floppy object. "This, Ronnie, is called a 'rubber duck'."_

" _What's it for, daddy?" the little boy asked eagerly._

_The man frowned. "I have no idea..."_

Flames licked at portions of the fallen structure...

" _I'm telling mum on you, Ron Weasley!" The little girl stamped her foot._

" _Tattle-tale!"_

 _Ron._  Ronald. RON.

" _Ronald Weasley! You come back here -"_  Ron...

That ugly green haze hung in the air...

" _So glad you're safe. For years and years... my best friend."_

No.  _"Gin?" NO!_

" _I love you, Ronnie."_ The life faded from vibrant brown eyes.  _"Sorry..."_

Ron woke up to his own desperate sobbing, his sister's dying breath seeming to echo silently in the vacant space. The boy pressed his hands to his face, but the tears and the throbbing ache persisted.

"WHY?" he screamed at the room, slamming his fists against the mattress on either side of him. They were all gone – all dead. _Murdered_. "Why..?  _Merlin,_  why?"

But the gray stone walls held no answers.

0o0o0

The man watched as the young redhead shook out his hand, flexing the fingers a bit as he looked back up at the directions. If the boy weren't mostly finished with the cutting and grinding for the potion, the professor might have assigned one of his classmates to finish for him.

But Mr. Weasley was nearly through with the preparation work that required him to grip his tools and he needed to get used to using his hand again, anyway. Besides, his mood was decidedly fractious and none of his housemates seemed eager to risk crossing him, though, Potter successfully managed to appear undaunted by his friend's surliness. Perhaps, he wasn't. Even so, Mr. Weasley seemed intent upon pretending the other boy wasn't standing half a meter away from him.

Ron sliced the roots quickly, temper simmering right along with his cauldron. He was sure half of the class was shooting him sympathetic looks. He should have sat in the very back, then maybe everyone wouldn't feel the need to gawk at him when they thought he wouldn't notice. He could feel their stupid eyes resting on him. Why did they think he left the dorm? He didn't want them looking at him, dammit!

He sucked in a sharp breath as the blade of his knife bit into his finger, effectively bringing him out of the fury he was working himself into. Reflexively, he dropped the instrument on the tabletop.  _At this rate, I won't have any hands left,_  he thought darkly.

The boy gazed down at the injury. It was bleeding quite freely. In fact, it was beginning to drip onto the table. He turned his hand so that the crimson fluid would fall into his palm instead. The cut hurt. Granted, it hurt worst just as the knife sliced into his flesh, but even still, Ron could certainly feel it.

"Something the matter?"

Ron looked up, surprised to find Professor Snape standing over him. A quick glance found Harry focusing on his own work, so he couldn't be certain if the man had come over by himself or if his friend had beckoned to him somehow.

"Just accidentally cut myself, sir," Ron told the man.

"You ought to exercise greater caution," Snape advised, handing him a clean handkerchief to wrap his finger with, "you have only one set of hands, after all. Mr. Potter will add your last ingredient for you. Report to the hospital wing and have that looked at."

"Yes, sir." He hoisted his book bag up to his shoulder.

"I'll bring the rest of your things to dinner," Harry told him. Ron nodded, then left the room. As he made his way to the infirmary, it was a wonder he didn't run into anything, for he kept looking down at his cut finger.

_He could feel..._

0o0o0

"Severus," Madame Pomfrey approached her younger colleague. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine, Poppy," the man waved off her concern. "I trust Mr. Weasley came to see you earlier?"

"After cutting himself in your class? Yes. He was here. Those knives are sharp. It was a pretty deep cut, but not the worst I've seen. I had him all better in a trice."

Snape nodded at this information. He could have easily mended the boy's finger, himself, but it was standard procedure to let the mediwitch care for injuries among the students.

"Am I correct in assuming that you have Mr. Weasley on a Watch?"

"Well, yes. Since summertime. Why?"

"How sensitive is it?"

"Surely, you don't believe the boy cut his finger on purpose?" Poppy asked in alarm. "I have checked him over every time he comes in here, and I've yet to find any sign that he's harming himself. Even if he used a healing spell, there'd be scars..."

"No, I don't think it was intentional," Severus assured her. "Now, how sensitive is a Watch?"

"Not as sensitive as I'd like," she admitted gravely. "It can't be, otherwise it would go off every time he stubbed his toe."

"What can it detect?"

"It will alert myself and the nearest staff if... if he receives an injury that could end his life."

"But not if he just intentionally hurts himself?" the Potions Master asked for clarification.

"Any spell that could monitor intent would be considered invasive magic," Poppy said, gesturing helplessly with her hands.

"Which is prohibited by the ministry," Severus stated.

"I am keeping an eye on him, Severus," the woman told him, "as close as I can."

"That's all anyone could ask of you," he said. She offered up a rather forced smile that failed to reach her eyes.

Taking his leave, the man made his way back to his office. It was possible, of course, that his concern was unfounded. Many grieved and never caused themselves harm, after all. But there was more than one unhealthy way to handle bereavement. That, he knew very well...

0o0o0

Ron leaned against the doorjamb, legs sprawled out into the corridor. He knocked his head into the door a few times. The boy let out a sigh. He was locked out of his room without the key – which, he recalled, was still hanging from its hook on the other side of the door. Heaving another sigh, he allowed his eyes drift shut...

… only to be assaulted by a furry body which rumbled loudly as it planted a pair of feet on his chest and butted against his chin with considerable force. His eyes flew back open and he found himself nose to nose with a dark, pointed face.

"Fitz?"

The cat chirruped at the voice, which was apparently calling his name, turning from his attack on the unsuspecting boy as someone rounded the corner. The girl slowed upon seeing Ron in the corridor.

"Was he bothering you?" she asked. It was the first time Ron could recall Millicent Bulstrode actually addressing him.

"Not really," he replied, pushing himself off the floor to stand.

"Why were you sitting on the floor?" Millicent wanted to know.

"Locked my key in the room," Ron returned. "What are you doing here?"

She pointed back over her shoulder. "My room's around the corner."

"You have a room, here?"

"Not exactly welcome in Slytherin, anymore," the girl remarked dryly. "Why don't you use  _alohomora_?"

"I thought that didn't work."

"It's a safety precaution," Millicent explained. "If the key's in the room but you're not,  _alohomora_  will work."

"Oh." He turned and pointed his wand at the doorknob, murmuring the spell quietly. The door immediately clicked open.

"Professor Burbage didn't tell you about that?"

"She wasn't the one who helped me move," Ron stated, picking his bag up off the floor. "Oh, and... uh, thanks. For telling me about the lock."

Millicent shrugged, side-stepping to maintain her balance as Fitz – who Ron could still hearing purring from nearly two meters away – rammed into her legs. "You're welcome," she said. She waited until he had closed the door before heading back to her own room, Fitz trailing along behind her.

Ron sat down in his chair. He wasn't sure how he felt about sharing the wing with a Slytherin, even if it was one who stood up for him to her housemates. After a while, though, all thoughts of classmates, Slytherin or otherwise, were banished as his mind turned to focus on other things – things he'd never really thought much about until earlier that same day...


	9. Chapter 9

_The platform was rapidly dwindling in the number of people milling about, as many of them – all students – boarded the bright red train. A dark-haired woman hugged her son close, running a hand over the teen's mildly greasy locks. Nothing seemed to keep them oil-free for long, especially when combined with his love for brewing._

" _Have a wonderful time at school, love," she murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of his head as she released him._

" _Sev, come on!" a redhead called from the door to one of the train's compartments, motioning for him to join her._

_The whistle blew, warning the passengers that its journey would soon begin. He turned back to the woman. She looked so pale and worn. Usually, she wasn't the one who brought them to the station. Most of the time, she couldn't get the time off work._

" _Mum?" he asked, watching her face intently. "Are you alright?"_

_His mum gave him a wan smile that was meant to be much brighter. Gently, she caressed his cheek. "Of course, Sev," she replied. "Don't worry about me. Now, go catch your train – I'll see you at Christmas."_

_Driven by impulse, he threw his arms around her once more, not caring whether fourteen-year-olds should hug their mothers in public or not. "I love you, Mum."_

" _And I you, my son." She held him tighter. "And I you."_

0o0o0

Obsidian eyes snapped open, greeted by the blackness of the unlit quarters. A murmur and then the lamp flickered on, its light dim at first before slowly growing brighter.

Severus Snape sat on the edge of his bed, head resting between his hands as he struggled to slow his rapid breathing. He'd known this would happen again. The moment he had heard what had happened to that boy's family, he'd known. It had only been a matter of time, really, and now the dreams were upon him, forcing him to relive his pain of twenty years before.

The clock stated the time as being shortly after midnight. The half dose of Dreamless Sleep in his medicine cabinet would allow his to slumber, free of the past, until it was time for him to get up for the day... Then, he'd have to replace it, though, and he doubted Poppy would allow him to do so without eying him worriedly. He could easily just brew a batch to have in his quarters, but he'd promised the mediwitch that he wouldn't. Even if he didn't value her trust, she would eventually find out – long-term use of Dreamless Sleep left the user almost entirely drained.

Finally, deciding that the likelihood of getting more rest without the aid of a potion was nil, he got up and changed into his teaching robes. He had other clothes, of course, despite what the students might believe, but he wasn't about to go roaming about the castle in them, either.

It was only with moderate surprise that he soon found his aimless wandering had brought him to the third floor just outside the hospital wing. Knowing that, barring unusual circumstances and patrol duties, the mediwitch would be the only other staff likely to be awake at such an hour, he quietly entered the empty ward.

After decades as a school mediwitch, Poppy Pomfrey didn't actually sleep. She dozed, typically between the hours of eleven and four, rousing at least once every hour. Occasionally, following a particularly restless night, she would take a nap during the day, but that was rare. The woman simply didn't need the same amount of sleep required by others. In fact, that evening – or morning, rather – she was reading in her chair when the quiet alarm on the doors to the infirmary chimed through her quarters.

Setting her book aside, Poppy quickly made her way across her sitting room and into her office, opening the door leading into the hospital wing a moment later. Her anxiety eased some, her expression settling into one of fondness and mild concern as she identified her late night visitor.

"I hope I didn't wake you," the Potions Master murmured quietly. In the light spilling from the lamp in her office, his dark eyes shone with a long remembered pain.

"Even if you had, I know it wouldn't have been without reason," she reassured. "Come in here, child. Come join me in my sitting room, by the fire."

With a faint smile – her smile, she called it, it was so rare – he acquiesced and she soon had him ensconced in one of her chairs with a nice cup of chamomile tea. He fussed a bit about her "dumping the whole sugar bowl" into it, but she knew she'd prepared it just the way he liked it. Seated across him, she watched him a moment as he studied the fire, deliberately ignoring her affectionate gaze. He had always done so and (she suspected) always would.

"What is troubling you, Severus?" Poppy inquired after the proper interlude of silence had passed.

"Dreams," Severus answered softly, staring down into his cup.

"Your mother," she stated knowingly. There were two 'series' of dreams that often disturbed Severus' sleep. The first, always termed 'dreams', all consisted of memories connected to his mother and the time surrounding her death. The second, which the man called 'nightmares', were all in some way borne of his time amongst You-Know-Who's followers.

"I still miss her," he offered.

"You always will."

Had there been a transcript of their conversation, one would have found that it had remained unchanged from the first time they had held it. Though he never said as much, Severus seemed to reap some comfort from the routine and the old mediwitch was happy to accommodate him. The man didn't often allow himself to be vulnerable. That he felt comfortable enough to let Poppy see that side of him was a testament to how close he had grown to the woman over the years.

"How many nights have you been having the dreams?" asked Poppy.

"Tonight was the first," Severus replied, setting his cup aside.

 _Just started, then._  "Do you need a sleeping draught?"

The man shook his head. "I have a half-dose of Dreamless Sleep in my quarters. I decided against taking it."

"A sound idea," Poppy approved, "but you still need to get more sleep tonight."

Severus raised an accusing eyebrow at her.

"You know full well I don't need as much sleep as you do, and I highly doubt you'd been asleep long before you were up again." She adjusted the pillows against the arm of the sofa before turning back to him. "Well? Come on – back to sleep with you."

He hesitated. "I don't want to take anything until absolutely necessary."

"I know," she soothed. "Just a mild  _somnus_  charm, Severus."

"That won't prevent me from dreaming," the man grumbled, though, he had removed his cloak and draped it over the back of the chair.

Poppy made no comment, simply covering him with a blanket as he stretched out fully clothed on her couch a moment later.

"I'm not a child, Poppy," he uttered reprovingly.

"Of course not, Severus," she responded, clearly humoring him. She brushed a strand of hair back from his face, then quietly murmured, " _incedo dormio_." The woman watched as the man's eyes slowly drifted shut and he was claimed by slumber.

Smiling softly, Poppy bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to Severus' forehead. "Good night, child," she murmured.

And if the dour Potions Master's lips curved up ever-so-slightly at this, no one in the room was about to tell.

0o0o0

"You had Transfiguration this morning, didn't you?"

This, on Tuesday at lunch – to which he had arrived intentionally late in an effort to avoid his classmates. It was working until the stretch of bench across from him had been taken.

Ron raised his head to gaze at the girl sitting opposite him. Her teeth were worrying her bottom lip.

"Was the test hard?" she asked anxiously. "I mean, it's Transfiguration, of course it was hard, but it just covered the material we covered the last couple weeks, right? Not the essay topic she assigned last weekend?" At this, she groaned. "Bloody hell – what am I saying? Of course, it was over the essay topic, too. I'm gonna fail..."

"This is the Gryffindor table," Ron stated flatly.

Millicent rolled her eyes, her impending test forgotten. "Y'know... now that you mention it, the gold and scarlet banners overhead with the lion on them  _might_  have been a slight clue."

"You're a Slytherin." Again, the boy's tone was without inflection.

Raising both brows, she glanced pointedly at the green and silver tie hanging loosely about her neck. "Your powers of deduction astound me," she uttered dryly.

Ron continued to stare at her. " _Why_  are you talking to me?" he demanded. "And why aren't you sitting with your House?"

"Yeah... 'Not welcome in Slytherin' happens to include the House table."

"Not my problem," he stated coldly. "You're still a snake, even if you aren't staying in the serpents' den."

"Right. Because that automatically makes me evil," Millicent snapped irritably. "The only reason I can't stay in my dorm anymore is because I stood up for you!"

"Yeah, well, you also attacked Hermione in the Dueling Club second year!" the redhead reminded her sharply.

Millicent's temper abruptly evaporated and she looked away. "I had my own problems second year. That had nothing to do with little Miss Genius or what House she is in," she said quietly. Rising to her feet, she slung her book bag over one shoulder. "Not all Slyths are the same, y'know, anymore than all you Gryffs are the same. I gotta study. See you in Potions."

As suddenly as she had arrived, she left again. Ron turned his attention back to pushing food around his plate, listlessly taking a bite now and then. He still didn't know what to make of Millicent Bulstrode. Before she had shouted at her Housemates, she had been just another Slytherin – and a largely invisible one, at that.

Now, she  _talked_. She had a temper that seemed to burn out as quickly as it flared up. She worried about schoolwork. She was... she was  _a person_ , all of a sudden. And for some reason, she had made an effort to have a conversation with him.

He just couldn't fathom  _why_.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for self-harm, this chapter.

"Hello, Ron."

Ron sighed as the girl sat next to him on the bench. Letting his fork clatter to the table, he pushed his plate away, his dinner hardly touched. When Mrs. Norris put a paw on his leg, he tore off a piece of turkey and gave it to her.

"Everyone misses you in the tower."

"Hermione..."

"I'm not asking you to come back," Hermione interjected. "I'm just letting you know that we miss you."

The redhead proceeded to break his dinner roll apart and Mrs. Norris stretched forward to help herself to the rest of his turkey.

"I'm sorry, Ron."

"Mione -" Ron began.

"No. I'm sorry for trying to make you talk. I... I just want to help and I can't an-and I'm not used to not being able to do anything. I'm no good at just  _being_  there." She gave a sad, self-deprecating smile. "Sorry."

The boy nodded slowly. "Me, too," he said, then sighed again. "I... I just need more time." He glanced at her briefly – too briefly – before standing up to leave. Mrs. Norris remained to stare reprovingly at Hermione, who finally offered her a piece of her own meal. Flicking her tail, the cat accepted the peace offering before leaping down and padding out of the hall.

Hermione turned back to her plate, prodding her food disinterestedly. She sighed quietly. Never had she felt so useless.

0o0o0

"You're worried about him."

Severus pulled his gaze from the vacant doorway across the Great Hall. Setting his fork down on the table, he brought his napkin up to dab at his mouth, though, not a lot of forethought seemed to be put into either action.

"The entire castle is concerned over the welfare of that boy, Albus," he stated dryly.

"True enough," the headmaster agreed, "though, I rather suspect your students believe you to be an exception."

The Potions Master scoffed. "I have long since ceased caring what my students might choose to believe about me."

"A pity," Albus said, a hint of amusement lightening his tone. "They do come up with the most interesting theories."

Severus glared mildly at him. "I will one day prove that you're responsible for the rumor that I am a vampire, old man."

"Alas, I am not the guilty party. I almost wish I were."

"I don't doubt." Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Severus returned to their original topic of conversation. "I do not feel it wise to facilitate his need to isolate himself."

"Perhaps not," Albus conceded. "And yet, having him constantly surrounded by his classmates is not a kindness, either. I'm afraid young Ronald's circumstances have me in a bit of a quandary. You and Poppy believe allowing him to dwell in secondary housing will be to his detriment while Minerva and I feel that forcing him to remain in the dormitory succeeds only in causing him more pain."

"At least in Gryffindor there are more eyes to watch over him."

"He is being looked after, now. Furthermore, you know as well as I that being surrounded by others is not necessarily a sufficient safeguard should he choose to do himself harm."

Blue eyes fixed upon him, capturing the younger man's gaze.

" _This is not the answer, my boy."_

" _I just want it to stop – I just want the pain to go away!"_

Severus turned his head to stare at one of the Ravenclaw banners. "What is to happen to him at the end of the school year?" he inquired. "I doubt the ministry will permit him to remain here another summer."

"Indeed not," Albus replied. "The Ministry is working out the details, though, I daresay the process is unnecessarily slow. Unfortunately, my say in the matter is limited as it is 'not my jurisdiction'. I imagine some sort of decision shall be made by the end of the school year."

"He doesn't have any family members who can take him?"

"His great-aunt's health is failing. Though, he does have some... distant relations."

The Potions Master looked at his employer for a moment before following the man's gaze to where it was fixed on one of the students. "I see," he murmured somberly.

Gray eyes questioningly turned towards the head table, their owner sensing the scrutiny focused upon him.

"If you'd excuse me, headmaster," Severus said as he pushed back from the table, "I have some work to finish in my lab."

"Of course, Severus," Albus told him. "Do have a good evening." He watched as the black-clad professor made his way out of the Great Hall, mind idly contemplating the possible fate of one of his students.

0o0o0

Ron slowed as he rounded the corner. Leaning against the wall near his room was Bulstrode. He hadn't spoken to the girl since she'd approached him on Tuesday. Nevertheless, he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone just then. He just wanted to be alone. Why did nobody seem to understand this? Maybe if he just ignored her...

"You're just gonna sit in your room alone the rest of the day?"

The boy sighed, his hand on the doorknob. No such luck, apparently. "That's kinda the point."

She nodded sagely. "You want to be alone. Want everyone to  _leave_  you alone."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"It's not such a good idea, y'know," Millicent said softly.

"Oh? And why's that?" Ron demanded.

"Gives you too much time to think; about what you've lost and how much it hurts. Pretty soon that's all that's left of you – the hurt. And it hurts so much that it scares you. You're afraid, because how can you ever be anything but that great big, empty hurt ever again? And it's just..." She stopped to suck in a deep breath of air, blinking her eyes and pulling them away from where they'd become fixed on the opposite wall.

"So," she asked, turning to face him, "you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

Ron found himself frowning. The more he talked to this girl, the less he knew what to make of her – and what was all that about hurt and being afraid? It was almost like she knew, like she understood, at least a bit.

"I'm not sure if I wanna go, either," Millicent continued when he failed to respond. "I'll go if you go."

"Who says I want to go with you?" the redhead retorted. She was still a Slytherin, after all.

The girl shrugged. "Go with Granger and Potter, then."

"Don't want to," Ron murmured. He finally opened his door to go inside.

"Hey," Millicent spoke up before he could close it behind him. "At least think about it?"

He met her eyes for a moment before giving a quick nod and shutting himself in his room.

The girl sighed. "Don't s'pose you wanna study," she mumbled to herself. Sighing again, she turned towards her own room, glancing back once more before rounding the corner.

0o0o0

Snape diligently stirred the potion, two, three, four times widdershins and thrice more clockwise. The action was automatic, however, as his mind kept drawing him back, reliving moments that were twenty years past.

" _Sev?" A slim hand had rested lightly on his arm, a pair of worried green eyes gazing into his own._

Ten lacewing flies, added two at a time with alternating stirs in between.

Two. Stir.

" _Are you alright, Sev?"_

Four. Stir.

_He numbly pulled his arm away, retreating from the presence of the only person he could truly call friend._

Six. Stir.

" _Severus, please! Just_ talk _to me – let me help you." Desperate. Pleading._

Eight. Stir.

_He whirled on her, snarling in anger, grief, and hurt. "You can't! You can't help me," he shouted. "I'm not alright – I'll never be alright. Just leave me alone."_

Ten. Stir.

" _But, Sev..."_

Let stand for thirty minutes.

" _Lily,_ please _... Just leave me alone." Raw. Agonized._

A phantom ache settled into the Potions Master's chest as he placed a lid on the cauldron. Too well, he suspected, did he understand the desire – the need – to withdraw from others. It had been then that everything good in his life had began to come undone; that cold, bleak night...

Light knocking at the door rescued him from his reverie.

"Enter," he called.

The door swung open and Poppy Pomfrey stepped into the lab. "Severus," she said, studying his features as she moved towards him. "How have you been sleeping?"

Severus wiped the table to cover for his brief pause. "I did not dream last night," he replied.

"You didn't go to bed at all," Poppy stated shrewdly. Taking his silence as confession, she sighed softly. "You cannot stay awake forever, Severus. It would not do you well to try. The dreams will pass. They always do."

"But never quickly enough," said Severus. "Was there something that you needed?"

"Yes. I am going to need more Pepper Up potion for the hospital wing," the witch answered. "It can wait for tomorrow, though. After you finish here, you're to go to bed – and don't even think about arguing with me, Severus Snape. Don't think I won't come and tuck you in myself, if need be." Her stern expression softened, and she briefly reached out a hand to caress his cheek. "You need your rest, else, you're liable to make yourself ill."

The man let out a breath of air that was more concession than protest. Poppy gave him a small smile before leaving him to his solitude once more.

Severus busied himself with cleaning the lab as he waited for the potion to finish cooling. The images waiting to greet him once he closed his eyes to sleep skirted at the edge of his thoughts, where he kept them at bay by focusing upon his task. He knew, of course, that his avoidance of the matter was not healthy, that he was even yet suppressing his loss rather than facing it. Perhaps someday he would, but not yet. Not yet...

0o0o0

He had woken, his sister's name once more upon his lips. The pain was overwhelming, eating him away from the inside out. He could bear it no longer – he had to find some means by which to let it out.

The boy rose from his bed, stumbling across the dark room to where he had left his bag. His hand soon closed upon the object of his search, withdrawing the small case from between his school books. He set it upon the desk and opened it, the moonlight illuminating its contents. Only one glinted in the pale light.

As he took the tool in hand, he faltered. Part of him insisted that he should proceed no further, but another part – a part that ached so keenly, it seemed the agony would surely kill him – begged for release from the crippling hurt.

Mind set, he placed the implement against his bare forearm and drew a line of crimson across his flesh.


	11. Chapter 11

"Morning, Norrie. Want some bacon?"

Ron looked up from his pumpkin juice to see Millicent Bulstrode reaching across the table to offer a piece of bacon to the cat seated beside him. For her part, Mrs. Norris put a foot on the table to reach forward and accept the offering.

"Fitz likes bacon, too," the girl continued conversationally, putting a pancake and some fruit onto her plate. "And toast. I'll have to take some back for him."

"Do you have to sit here?" Ron asked. "Why can't you sit at the Hufflepuff table?"

"Because Laura-Belle Gant is way too cheerful," Millicent replied, pouring syrup on her pancake. "It's creepy. And annoying – she thinks we're best friends now or something."

"Ravenclaw, then."

The Slytherin shook her head, swallowing a bite so she could talk. "The upper-years think me getting kicked outta my House for defending a Gryff is  _so interesting_. Apparently, I lack Slytherin self-preservation and cunning," she gestured with her fork as she spoke, "made me feel like some weird Potions ingredient they were studying."

Ron let out a laugh before he fully realized that what she'd said had struck him as funny. Millicent narrowed her eyes at him in response, turning back to her breakfast with a soft  _harrumph_. The redhead regarded her solemnly for a moment.

"Can I ask you something?"

The girl looked up, curiosity written plainly across her features.

"That day... why did you say all that stuff?" he asked.

Millicent frowned, poking thoughtfully at her food with her fork. "Because it was true," she stated. "And because what they were saying really made me mad."

A lump had formed in Ron's throat and already his heart had set to throbbing again, but he still didn't get it. He still didn't understand why she had spoken up when he could scarcely remember her speaking at all before that. Swallowing hard, he asked again, "But,  _why_?"

"Because it was wrong," Millicent asserted, meeting his gaze. "Because what happened was wrong. It was terrible and it's not for people to gossip about or make fun of. It's... That they can be pleased about something so horrible... It makes them the worst people in the world." She looked down at her plate, no longer having any appetite. Dropping the fork she still held in her hand, she reached for her juice, instead.

Ron stared at her. On the one hand, he felt that what she'd said made perfect sense, but on the other, he felt he was still missing something and he was more perplexed by this strange girl than ever. Just who was she? She certainly wasn't the speechless Slytherin lingering in the background, present, but keeping to herself.

"Why do you keep talking to me?" he voiced aloud. "What do you want?"

"I want to be your friend," Millicent answered simply. "Can't I?"

Before he could respond one way or the other, someone sat down beside him. He turned his head to see that it was Harry.

"Hey, Ron," the other boy greeted, then glanced across the table. "Bulstrode." He offered a tight smile.

"Potter," she returned.

"Hi, Harry," Ron said quietly.

"'Mione insisted that I ask if you were going to Hogsmeade," Harry told him. "I was hoping you'd come with us, too."

The redhead fidgeted with his silverware. "Maybe next time. I..." he drew in a bracing breath so he could look at the friend whose face still made his loss feel so raw. "Bulstrode already asked me to go with her. Told her I might." Harry's brows rose slightly in surprise and he shot another glance at the girl seated across from them. He gave another smile, less forced this time.

"Maybe, we'll see you there, then," he said. Ron nodded and pulled his gaze away again. A new record; he'd almost faced the other boy for two minutes this time.

Harry rose to his feet, briefly resting a hand on Ron's shoulder before leaving to join Hermione, who was waiting at the end of the table. The girl was clearly disappointed that Ron didn't come with him.

Unseen by Ron, who was still playing with his butter knife, Millicent wrinkled her nose in distaste. "It's Millie," she said. "Or Millicent. I don't really care which."

"Huh?" Ron looked up at her.

"You want me to call you Weasley?"

Ron flinched and shook his head.

"Didn't think so. I'll call you Ron and you call me Millie," she bartered. "I hate my last name."

"Fine," the boy agreed.

"Are we going to Hogsmeade?" Millie wanted to know. "Or was that just an excuse to make Potter go away?"

The redhead pushed his plate away with a sigh. "I need some more ink and parchment," he said in answer.

"I need to go back to my room first," said the girl, rising from her seat.

"Me, too," stated Ron.

"Might as well go together, then."

"Yeah. Alright."

Millicent grinned at him as they walked along.

"What?" Ron finally asked her.

"I'm gonna be a good friend for you, Ron," she declared.

The boy gave a skeptical huff. "Whatever," he murmured. Nonetheless, he didn't wholly disagree.

0o0o0

Things had been going well, or at least, they hadn't been going poorly. Ron had agreed to go to Hogsmeade and so they had went.

The reason she was so persistent in befriending the boy was simple, really: she was frightened for him. She had watched from afar as he drew more and more into himself, the fear building up within her until it burst and she was stepping out from her carefully hoarded anonymity for a boy she knew only by name.

She had been little more than a fixture, present but in the background, to the point that even her own House scarcely noted her existence. Unnoticed, she'd been largely unridiculed, and apart for the one friend she did keep, no one bothered about her. Now, she had probably lost that friend. Whispers followed her down the corridors, fellow students and housemates insulted her to her face and behind her back in equal measure, and the whole school knew her: Millicent Bulstrode, the girl who openly reviled You-Know-Who's loyal for the sake of an orphaned blood traitor.

It would be worth it, though. So long as she somehow kept Ron Weasley from withdrawing from the world entirely – kept him moving, one step in front of the other. What she feared most for him, after all, was that he might stop completely, and that was a thought she just couldn't bear.

Things had been going well... until Ron had seen that stupid joke shop. He had stared at it in anguish, clutching at his heart as though he might reach it through his chest. And then, choking back a sob, he fled.

"Ron!" Millicent had shouted after him, but to no avail. She pulled a hand through her hair. "Damn it, Millie. You bloody  _moron_." Slumping slightly, she sighed. "Damn it."

"Bloody moron is right," a voice spoke up from behind her. "Wandering around Hogsmeade  _alone_  – are you out of your mind?"

She turned to face one of her housemates, who stood with his arms folded across his chest. He was nearly a head taller than she was, his build lean and wiry. Pale brown hair fell into eyes the same color and a frown pulled the corners of his lips downwards.

"I wasn't alone," Millie said.

Nott snorted. "Like wandering around with Weasley's any better." He shook his head. "Seriously, Millie. You shouldn't be here."

"Maybe you're right," she stated.

"I'm always right. It's safer for you at school."

"I nearly got murdered in Potions," she reminded him dryly.

"A brainless bint pulling a stupid prank," he gritted out. "She'll pay for that."

She sighed. "Why do you even care?"

The boy gave her a pointed glare, refusing to dignify the question with a response.

"Teddy -"

" _Don't,_ " he intoned.

"But I am sorry," said the girl.

Theo abruptly closed the distance between them. "You  _know_  how I feel about my father!" he hissed. "And you still lumped me together with the rest of them."

"I do know, I just... I just started talking and you were there and – I didn't mean it. I know you're not like them. I'm really sorry."

"Well, I'm not ready to let it go," he snapped.

Millicent hung her head.

With a sigh, the boy took her by the shoulders and turned her around. "Go back to Hogwarts. And be quick about it. I've still got things I need to get."

"What does that have to do with anything?" she demanded.

"I'm gonna follow you back, of course," he stated, matter-of-fact. "Go."

They moved along, Theo walking about a meter behind Millie. It wasn't until they were on the road between the small town and the school that either of them spoke.

"Apologize again, Mills," he told her. "Later. Next time, I'll forgive you."

She nodded without looking back or slowing her pace. "I will."

Theo regarded her solemnly for a moment. "He's not him, you know."

Millicent's eyes fluttered briefly shut and she drew in a sharp breath. " _I know_ ," she murmured quietly.

0o0o0

Ron collapsed on the grand staircase, gasping for air. With one hand he clutched at the front of his shirt, his heart aching and lungs burning.  _Zonko's_. Fred and George had loved that shop. They had spent days –  _weeks_  – at a time plotting and experimenting, planning to own a shop of their own just like it.

Their shop would never exist, now.

He pressed his forehead to the cool stone, too hot in the shirt now half-soaked with sweat from his run all the way back from Hogsmeade. It was long-sleeved, which had been fine before his run. The day was a bit chill and the sleeves had hidden the cut he had sliced into his arm the night before. He gripped that arm with his opposite hand, causing the injury to hurt anew. As soon as he caught his breath, he would-

"Back so early?"

Ron started at the voice, pulling his face away from the step to look up at the person addressing him. Snape gazed placidly back, expression completely neutral. The man raised an eyebrow when he failed to respond.

"Yes, sir," said Ron, still a bit short of breath.

"I see."

The Potions Master continued to regard him silently and not knowing whether he should respond, Ron finally nodded his head.

"If you find you have forgotten anything required for your classes, do inform either myself or one of your other professors and we will make certain you are appropriately supplied," his professor told him. He continued down the remaining steps and started across the entrance hall.

"Thank you, sir," Ron spoke up.

Snape stopped to turn and look back at him. "You are welcome." He paused a moment before adding, "I will be brewing potions for the infirmary. You may lend me a hand, if you so desire. I will be in the lab where we worked before." Without waiting for a response, he left, footsteps echoing quietly behind him.

Ron lowered his head back to the stair. "I'd have to be out of my bloody mind," he muttered. Nevertheless, it was but a few minutes later that he pushed himself to his feet and wended his way down to the dungeons.

0o0o0

_'Stir three times, clockwise, then let simmer for ten minutes,'_  read the spiky handwriting on the parchment. Ron did so and set the stirring rod aside.

"Be sure to set a timer," Snape suddenly spoke. The teen glanced over at him, but the man's attention still seemed to be focused on the potions he was working on himself.

"Yes, sir," answered Ron.

No sooner had he done that, than the professor waved towards a cauldron that had been sitting since before he'd entered the lab. "The Dreamless Sleep needs to be decanted into single dose vials. See that you measure out two half-doses."

The redhead nodded even though the man still hadn't looked up from what he was doing. Apart from the occasional direction, they had been working quietly for the past half an hour. Ron decided that he preferred the Potions Master in his lab to the one that stalked about the classroom. Like the last time Snape had put him to work assisting him, the teen found himself absorbed by his task, leaving him less time to think about memories of the past. Already, Snape's lab felt a bit like a haven. The brewing of potions did not call to mind any of those he had lost.

"Professor?"

"Yes?" inquired Snape.

"What are the half-doses for?" Ron asked. "I mean, there's only two of them. Shouldn't there be more?"

The man paused, hand over a cauldron. He glanced up at the boy before sprinkling the pinch of herbs into the brew. "Madame Pomfrey has never requested that I apportion out any of her stock in such a way," he stated. "She prefers to do so herself, when necessary. One of the half-doses is for my medicine cabinet. The other will go to the hospital wing with the rest."

"Why don't you keep a full dose and only take half when you need it?" the teen wanted to know.

"Because I have no reason to keep a full dose in my quarters," Snape lied.

Ron quietly poured the potion into vials for a moment. "Can I have the other half-dose?"

Black eyes focused on the top of the boy's head, which remained bent over his task. "You've been having nightmares."

"Just a few," lied Ron. No way was he admitting that he had them nearly every night. They'd probably try to make him talk to that counselor again – it had taken almost the whole summer before the man finally said there was nothing he could do as long as Ron refused to say anything to him.

"Very well," the man said, having guessed the truth. "You may take it back to your room in case you have need of it."

"Thank you, sir." The timer went off, and Ron finished the Pepper Up potion he'd been working on. After he had set it aside to cool, Snape pointed across the room.

"Dried daisy roots," he said. "Middle shelf, third from the left."

With a nod, Ron moved to retrieve it.


	12. Chapter 12

" _Mum? Are you alright?"_

_A hand caressed his cheek. "Of course, Sev. Don't worry about me."_

"Mum?"

" _I'll see you at Christmas."_

"... you alright? Mum?"

" _Don't worry about me."_

"No! No, you're sick," the man murmured, tossing fitfully in his sleep. "Why... why didn't you tell me you were sick? Mum?"

" _Don't worry about me. Now, go catch your train..."_

" _NO!_  Please, you can't leave me!"

Obsidian eyes snapped open. The Potions Master fought back the covers to sit on the edge of his bed, not even bothering to turn on the light. Clutching at the mattress, he worked to calm his breathing. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to sleep. If he didn't wake from the dreams, he found himself lying awake fearing that he would. He'd taken his half-dose of Dreamless Sleep the previous night, and now, it seemed he would need another one if he were to get any rest.

That meant he would have to go to the Hospital Wing.

Part of him cursed his promise to Poppy. Who was she to extract such promises from him, anyway? Another knew that the only reason she had asked him to promise at all was for his own well-being. The woman genuinely cared about him – it was why he had given her his word in the first place.

After pulling a robe on over his nightclothes and putting his feet into some shoes, Severus grabbed his wand and ventured out of his quarters.

Poppy startled awake when the night-time infirmary alarm chimed through her quarters. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she quickly made her way towards her office.

"Severus?" she queried upon seeing the man, not wholly surprised to see him standing there. "Oh, child. Can't sleep?"

The Potions Master nodded silently.

"Come in here," the mediwitch beckoned him. Minutes later, she had him seated on her sofa.

"I used my Dreamless Sleep, last night," Severus told her. "I've come to request a full dose for tonight."

"Of course, Severus. You do know -"

"I can only have it one more night after this," he interrupted. "I know. You've reminded me frequently over the years."

"Well, I'm not sure I would say frequently," Poppy stated dryly. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let me go get it for you." She left the room for a moment and returned with a vial of Dreamless Sleep.

"Thank you," Severus said quietly as she handed it to him.

"Did you want to remain here or return to your quarters?" the woman asked him kindly.

"I'll return to my quarters. My bed is bit more spacious than your sofa." He rose to his feet.

Poppy saw him to the door, giving his arm a light squeeze. "The dreams will pass, Severus," she reassured him.

He simply gave a slight incline of his head and went on his way.

"If only you could allow yourself to let go," the mediwitch murmured sadly. "Perhaps, then, the past would plague you no more."

0o0o0

Ron lay awake on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he had been for several hours. He'd woken yet again with Ginny's final words echoing in his mind.

" _Sorry..."_

He had been too numb to move once he awoke, too blind to see anything through the tears in his eyes. So, he had remained where he was, heart aching with his loss.

Now, his tears had long since dried and the numbness, that blissful lack of feeling, had ebbed away. Outside, the sun was shining and Fang could be heard barking in the distance. Another day was just starting and already Ron felt overwhelmed – it was another day that he must live with the crippling pain.

"When will it  _stop_?" he questioned the stone walls. "I just want it end."

Finally, the boy dragged himself upright and pulled on some clothes. They might have even been clean. Ron didn't particularly care. Grabbing his room key from its hook, he jerked open the door, halting in momentary surprise to find that the corridor beyond was occupied.

Fitz and Mrs. Norris sat facing each other, the tom cautiously batting at the queen, whose ears were back and tail was lashing back and forth in agitation. Millie sat against the wall opposite his door, watching the two felines idly, tapping the handle of her wand on her knee as she hummed quietly to herself. She looked up as he emerged, black hair framing her face instead of back in its customary ponytail. Fitz chirruped and broke away from his staring contest with Mrs. Norris to greet the boy. The Maine Coon swatted him on the rump as he passed.

"Norrie's not too fond of Fitz," Millie explained with a wry smile. "Thinks he acts like too much of a kitten, I suspect." She pushed herself up off the floor, picking up a parcel that had been sitting beside her.

"What's this for?" Ron asked as she handed it to him. He took a small side-step to keep from falling as Fitz rammed into his shin, purring loudly.

"You said you needed more ink and parchment," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh, no." The boy immediately tried to give it back. "You didn't have to."

The girl pushed it back at him. "You can make it up to me next time, if you insist."

"Well..." Ron hesitated. "Alright, then." He walked back across his room to set the parcel on his desk. Turning around, he found Fitz sitting in the middle of his rug, blue eyes gazing up at him. Millie leaned against the doorjamb looking amused. Mrs. Norris sat beside her, looking otherwise.

Ron stared down at the tom, who was now crouched down to look underneath his bed. Fitz was a rather large cat – not fat, but just big in size. His coloring betrayed the fact that he was part Siamese. In fact, he had left brown and tan hairs all over the boy's pant leg.

Wait… brown and tan?

" _I got this off of Millicent Bulstrode's robes,"_  he heard Hermione's voice from two years past saying.

The boy's head shot up. "I thought you had a black cat?" he blurted.

"Why would you think I had a black cat?" Millie asked, frowning in confusion.

"I, uh... I thought I saw you with one, once," Ron lied. "I just assumed it was yours."

"Oh. It was probably Teddy's cat," the girl said. "Kieran is black. Though... he doesn't really leave the Slytherin common room, much." She frowned thoughtfully at him, but made no further comment.

"Have you had him very long?" the boy asked, hoping to take her mind off of Teddy's patently xenophobic cat – whoever 'Teddy' was.

"Well, sort of... not really," Millie replied. "I didn't bring Fitz to school with me until after Christmas hols, second-year. He's not really my cat. He belongs to my – that is... h-he's a family cat." She stammered awkwardly, suddenly diverting her gaze.

That struck Ron as a bit odd, but before he could formulate a question, her hazel eyes were gazing back at him again.

"Are you ready to go to breakfast?" she asked.

"Yeah, I guess," Ron answered slowly.

"Good, let's go," she said. "I've got some homework I need to finish today." She started off down the hall and Fitz immediately turned to follow. Shaking his head bewilderedly, Ron left his room once more, closing the door behind him.

0o0o0

Millie and Ron sat at the Gryffindor table, eating in companionable silence. The cats had departed their company on the way down from the second floor, Mrs. Norris on the first floor and Fitz heading outside when they reached the Entrance Hall. There wasn't really anything to talk about in particular, so they didn't. While Ron had learned that the girl could certainly talk when she wanted, he also knew that Millie wasn't really one to prattle, either.

Owls were sweeping in to deliver post as someone sat down beside him.

"Hello, Ron." Hermione had spoken quietly, almost timidly. With a slight pang, Ron realized that his previous interactions with his friend had been considerably less than cordial.

It took him a moment to muster up the appropriate warmth to reply, "Hey, 'Mione."

Hermione gave him a small smile which faded as she looked across the table at Millicent. "Bulstrode."

"Granger." Millie's tone had remained neutral. It was the way she'd said the name, each syllable precisely enunciated, that caused Ron to glance up in surprise.

The girl's bearing had shifted, ever-so-slightly. Her hazel eyes seemed to have darkened so that they now appeared more brown than green, and she had taken on a vaguely mulish expression that emphasized her square jaw. For a moment, Ron was hard-put to attribute said expression to Millie, though, it wasn't entirely unfamiliar, either.

That's when he realized that he wasn't currently looking at Millie. The girl now seated across from him was the Slytherin, Bulstrode; closed off, hackles raised, with that look on her face which had once brought him and Harry to the consensus that she was a bit ugly.

He wondered when he'd stopped thinking of Millie as a Slytherin.

"Hey," Ron said to her. She looked at him and the hardness in her eyes seemed to ease, even though her demeanor remained unchanged. She turned back to her breakfast.

Beside him, Hermione was wearing a rather disapproving frown. Pulling her gaze away from the other girl, she faced her friend. She tried not to be hurt by the fact that he didn't quite meet her gaze.

"Harry and I are going to visit Hagrid this morning after breakfast," she told him. "I was wondering if you'd like to join us?"

Ron frowned down at his plate, poking at his eggs with his fork. Part of him did want to spend time with his friends, but another part wasn't so sure.

"You should go."

The redhead looked up. Millie was back, though, she was obviously still on edge.

"Hagrid will have missed seeing you," she continued, "and it'd be good for you to get out. You spend too much time in here." She waved a hand to indicate the castle itself.

"I don't exactly see  _you_  going out that much," Ron pointed out.

"That's because you spend all your free time in your room," Millie quipped.

"Yeah," the boy conceded, "I guess I do."

"Well? Are you going to come with us, then?" Hermione asked, her tone a bit demanding.

"Sure," Ron told her. He made himself meet her gaze for a moment. "After breakfast, then?"

Hermione's face broke into a smile. "Yes. Harry and I will see you then." She rose from her seat, shooting a rather triumphant look at Millie before she left.

Millie rolled her eyes.

"I thought you didn't have anything against Hermione?" Ron wanted to know.

"I don't," she stated indifferently, "but apparently, Little Miss Genius has something against me."

"Why would Hermione have something against you?"

Millie shrugged. "Hell if I know," she said.

Ron glanced down the table towards at Hermione, who was smiling as she talked to Harry, ostensibly telling him the news. Across from him, Millie rose to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked. She usually waited for him.

"To go do my homework," Millie replied.

"Oh. Right." He'd forgotten.

"Have fun, Ron," she told him.

"You, too," he responded.

The girl snorted. "Yes, because reading all about Barmy the Nutcase is  _so fun_ ," she uttered with false enthusiasm.

Ron laughed. "Good point."

"Later." Millie made her way out of the Great Hall.

"Later," Ron murmured belatedly.

Something akin to dread was beginning to well up inside of him. She had  _left_. Millie was safe. Millie didn't constantly ask how he was – she just seemed to know. She didn't make him  _remember_  just by simply existing. How was he supposed to survive a morning with his best friends?

He sucked in a deep breath as he noticed them get up from their places further down the table. It looked like he was about to find out.

0o0o0

The trio trekked down the familiar path to the groundskeeper's cabin. It felt strange to Ron, as though the last time he had gone to Hagrid's with his friends had been ages ago, instead of just the previous year.

They moved quietly along, but it was an awkward silence rather than a companionable lack of conversation. Harry and Hermione, though clearly glad that he was spending time with them, just didn't know what to say. It was Ron who finally spoke up when they were half-way to their destination.

"Millie doesn't have a black cat," he said.

"She  _does_  have a cat, though?" Harry asked, glancing over at the other boy. Hermione seemed to have picked up her pace.

"A great big tom cat," Ron confirmed. "He's brown and tan, though. Rather friendly cat, really. Mrs. Norris doesn't care for him much, it seems." His lips curved with amusement.

"Oh?" A small smile formed on Harry's face in response to one on his friend's. "And why's that?"

"Not sure. Probably that he acts a bit like an overgrown kitten, though."

Hermione let out a huff. "What does Millicent Bulstrode's cat have to do with anything?" she demanded.

"Well, remember when you accidentally turned yourself into a cat second-year?" asked Ron. "Not only did the hair you picked off Millie's robes not belong to her, it wasn't even from  _her_  cat. It's a bit funny, if you think about it."

The treacherous twitching of Harry's mouth confirmed that he agreed with Ron. Hermione scowled back at both of them.

"Well, I don't think it's funny, at all," she declared, turning back to the trail ahead of her. The boys wisely held their tongues on the matter.

They arrived at Hagrid's hut a few minutes later, where he ushered them in and made some tea. (They were able to decline the man's infamous rockcakes due to their recent meal.) He was obviously thrilled to see Ron, though, he tried not to make a big deal about it. It was all so very Hagrid that Ron couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth. He had missed the gentle half-giant.

"So, Ron," Hagrid said as he joined them at his table, "how've yeh been?"

Ron felt his heart clench in his chest before he realized that it was a perfectly normal inquiry from someone he hadn't really seen in a while. "Oh, you know," he murmured into his oversized teacup, "the same."

"I imagine so," the man nodded solemnly. "I've seen yeh sitting with Millie Bulstrode, lately. The two of you getting along, then?"

Hermione's head shot up at this. There was that nickname again!

"You know Millie?" Ron asked in surprise. He didn't imagine Hagrid would refer to her as 'Millie', otherwise.

"Oh, sure," Hagrid replied. "Good friend of ol' Fang, here. Nice girl, Millicent. Though..." he leaned forward in a nearly conspiratorial manner, "she talks like a dragon-tamer, if yeh know what I mean."

Ron had to swallow the lump that had formed at the mention of one of his brother's vocations before he could answer. "I've noticed." He managed a strained smile.

"You mean Millicent Bulstrode comes to visit you?" Harry asked Hagrid when he saw the look on his friend's face.

"Well, she doesn't come near as often as the three of you, but she's joined me for tea a time or two," the man replied. "I reckon she comes more to see the animals than me. A real natural with the animals, that girl. Didja know, I think she was the only one who figured out how to open the textbook by herself last year?"

"How is that possible?" Hermione finally felt the need to join the current conversation. "When you asked if anyone figured out how to open their books, everyone shook their heads!"

"Not one to draw attention to herself, is she? But she figured it out, alright – came early to class to show me."

The girl looked profoundly unhappy that someone else worked out something she had failed to, but made no further comment on the matter. The conversation moved along and she found herself watching Ron. Even when he smiled, he still looked incredibly sad and it pained her to see her friend that way. She should have been by his side – she and Harry – helping him through his grief, but the redhead could still hardly look at either of them for more than a minute or two at a time.

Hermione knew that it wasn't really personal, that it was Ron's grief and guilt making him act that way, but it still hurt. Especially now that Millicent bloody Bulstrode seemed to always be hanging around him. Why was it that some Slytherin who hadn't so much as talked to Ron before this year was allowed to be at his side, but his own best friend couldn't? It wasn't even Harry, or one of their other friends. It was some foul-tempered, scowling  _Slytherin_.

In what way could  _Millie_  possibly help Ron that Hermione couldn't?

"It's not fair," Hermione murmured sullenly.

"What's not fair?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked up, surprised to find three sets of eyes focused on her. She hadn't realized she had spoken aloud.

"Nothing," she replied. "Just thinking about one of my class assignments." Harry looked a bit dubious, but Hagrid and, to her dismay, Ron seemed to take her at her word.

Didn't Ron care about her, anymore?

… and what kind of selfish person wondered such a thing when one of their dearest friends had lost so much?

0o0o0

After lunch, Ron had joined Millie to work on homework. Hermione and Harry had tried to coax him to go back with them to the Gryffindor common room, but as much as Ron had enjoyed the time he'd spent with them at Hagrid's, he already felt drained and he just knew he wasn't ready to face the Tower again, yet.

Millicent had seemed pleased that he finally decided to study with her – she'd invited him to do so numerous times and he had always declined. They had gone up to the library to do some research for their Potions essay and spent the time leading up to dinner studying in relative silence.

They were already late for the evening meal by the time they'd dropped off their book bags and started down to the Great Hall. Most of the other students would have arrived before them.

"Y'know," Millie mused aloud as they reached the top of the Grand Staircase, "I think the professor purposely chooses the most difficult topics for essays because he knows it'll take for-"

She broke off abruptly and Ron turned to see that her face was stricken and drained of color, eyes wide with horror. He followed her gaze to where a familiar brown and tan figure was dragging itself through the half-open door leading out to the courtyard. A couple of students moving across the Entrance Hall also noticed the creature and slowed to watch it.

"FITZ!" The scream tore itself from Millie's throat, causing several people to jump and stare and Ron's hair to stand on end. She ran down the remaining stairs, nearing tripping and falling several times in the process. The cat collapsed onto the floor seconds before his mistress dropped to her knees beside him.

Finally pulling himself from his shock, Ron rushed to her side.

"No, no, no... Lovey, c'mon," Millie was murmuring brokenly as she gently she lifted the tom into her lap. "Fitz don't do to this to me – don't you bloody dare..."

"Wh-what's wrong with him?" Ron asked shakily, crouching beside her. She just shook her head, continuing to mumble incoherently to her cat. Fitz didn't appear to be injured – there was no blood or sign of injury – and he had been perfectly healthy when they'd seen him that morning.

"Fitz?" The cat gave but a feeble response. " _Fitz_ , please!" Millie's tone was panicked, her cheeks streamed with tears.

Ron shot to his feet, running to the Great Hall doors to peer inside. Not seeing who he was looking for, he darted back and took the large tom from Millie's arms. Millie hurried after him, unwilling to let the cat out of her sight. Cradling Fitz securely in his arms, Ron ran for the dungeons. He had to find Snape – he had to find Snape,  _now!_


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Millie's potty mouth runs away with her, bringing the F-word into this chapter.

Severus Snape had just stepped out of his lab when a student all but slammed right into him. Scowling, he opened his mouth to issue a scathing rebuke to whichever dunderhead happened to not be paying attention to his or her surroundings.

"Professor, please, I think he's been poisoned!" An anxious voice cut him off before he had the chance to speak. Ronald Weasley, accompanied by a tearful Millicent Bulstrode, stood before him, a large cat cradled in the boy's arms.

Pulling his wand from his robes, the Potions Master ran a quick diagnostic on the feline. "Give him here," he commanded. The redhead complied and the man turned back into his lab, the two teens following behind him. Laying the cat on an empty table, Snape examined him more thoroughly.

"How long has he been like this?" the man asked.

"A few minutes, tops," Ron replied, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. "We found him in the Entrance Hall when we came down for dinner."

It was at this moment that Millicent seemed to have found her tongue again.

"Professor, please, you have to help him!" she exclaimed, clutching at his arm, her words so choked they were difficult to understand. "I can't lose him, too—not Fitz, too! You have to-"

Snape took her by the shoulders and guided her backwards to the chair which sat in the corner. "Sit," he told her firmly. The girl complied. "Now,  _stay put_  until I tell you otherwise. Understand?"

Millie nodded and the professor turned to Ron. "Go get Hagrid. Quickly," he directed. "I may be able to treat the poison, but animals are not my area of expertise."

Ron immediately obeyed while Snape went about collecting items he would need. He did not have the antidote needed to treat the cat and this was one case in which a bezoar would prove useless. He'd have to brew one fresh and hope that the cat remained breathing in the short amount of time it would take to do so. The girl sat in the corner and cried into her hands.

Snape had just completed the quick antidote that he needed to treat the feline when Hagrid ducked into the lab, Ron hurrying in a bit breathlessly behind him. The boy moved to stand by the girl in the corner (out of way, for which the Potions Master was silently grateful), watching anxiously.

"What do we have, Professor?" Hagrid asked.

"The animal has been poisoned," Snape informed him, though he was certain the boy had already done so. "I am about to administer an antidote. It should counteract the poison, but the cat's survival-" At this, the girl's sobs raised in volume. "-depends on whether it can recover from the damage already done. We will need to count on your capabilities to see it through."

"O' course," Hagrid agreed, shooting a look at Millicent and Ron. "I'll do everything I can fer the little fella. Lemme help yeh give 'im that antidote."

"Thank you, Hagrid." The Potions Master adjusted his position so that Hagrid could hold the cat while he fed it the potion.

Ron turned his attention to Millie as the girl rose shakily to her feet, teary hazel eyes fixed on the scene playing out in the middle of the lab. She had managed to suppress the worst of her sobs, though her control was clearly fragile. Her breathing shuddered both on inhale and exhale and her eyes were swollen, tear-streaked face blotchy. If ever a girl was pretty when she cried, Millie was not one of them.

"D-did it work?" Millie asked, tone cracking over the words. She was biting her lip, again, only this time Ron worried she might bite clean through it.

Snape waved his wand over Fitz. "The poison has been neutralized," he confirmed. Before any sort of relief or hope could take residence on the girl's face, he continued, "He is not out of the woods, yet. As I said before, he will need to be able to recover from the damage already done. It's in Hagrid's hands, now." The Potions Master gave the the other man a solemn gaze.

"I'll do the best I can fer him, Millie," Hagrid promised her. Gently, he settled the large tom in the crook of one arm; the cat looked so small compared to the half-giant.

Millicent had resumed crying, quietly this time. Hesitating uncertainly, Ron put a hand on her shoulder. He was a bit surprised when the girl leaned into the contact.

"Would yeh like to come down to the cabin while I set up a place fer the little guy?" the groundskeeper asked kindly. The girl nodded and stepped away from the redhead, following the man out the door. Ron stayed behind, frowning after them for a long moment before looking back at his professor.

"Will he be alright?" the boy asked. His tone was plaintive, though he had not intended for it to be.

Snape's lips thinned into a hard line. "I would not say the diagnosis is promising," he answered honestly.

Ron stared at the ground, blue eyes a bit over-bright. His hands clenched into fists at his side, even as his teeth ground together. Trembling, his face flushed with temper.

"Who would poison her cat?" he demanded. "He never did anything to anyone."

"No doubt, someone who realizes how much the animal means to her."

There was a brief silence before Ron spoke again, if for no other reason than to ease the pressure building in his jaw. "It's not fair."

Snape allowed himself a sigh. "Life seldom is."

0o0o0

Potions class. Snape had yet to arrive. Ron had taken a seat by Millicent instead of on the Gryffindor side of the room. He thought she could do with the show of support.

The girl had not been easily convinced to attend classes, wanting to stay with her cat at Hagrid's. Fitz was still frightfully ill. The cat did his best to respond to his mistress' voice and caresses, but beyond that, he had yet to take a turn for the better.

For Ron's part, he told himself that it hadn't been long enough to determine whether Fitz could be nursed back to health or not.

Millie's expression was disconcertingly blank, except for her eyes. Her eyes were full of such keen anguish that it was difficult to take in. From his place a few tables ahead, Theodore Nott kept glancing back. The boy's face betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

"Just look at her," Pansy murmured to her neighbor, tone pitched to carry right to the table behind her; right to Millie. "Near catatonic over a cat—you'd think a person was dying."

The redhead opened his mouth to retort, but Millicent herself beat him to it.

"Shut up, you brainless cow!" Millie snarled having jumped to her feet. Her expression was far from blank, now. "That goes for all of you! Just keep your mouths  _shut_. You don't know anything."

Ron put a hand on his cauldron as it began to vibrate, as did a couple other students. Millie's furious gaze remained fixed on Pansy.

"None of you know a bloody thing!" the girl reiterated fiercely. Her tone became thick, tears springing to her eyes, though she fought against letting them fall. "He's just a cat. A sweet, innocent little cat who will go up to anyone. What kind of coward picks on a poor little cat?"

"Merlin's pants. It nothing to go mental over," Pansy muttered under her breath.

Unfortunately, Millicent heard her.

The girl's wand was in her hand and aimed at the other girl so quickly that Ron almost couldn't stop her from hexing Pansy in the face. As it was, the boy was able to grab her arm and redirect it towards the ceiling. Leaving a small crater in the ward-enforced stone, the spell ricocheted, nearly hitting poor Neville, who managed to jump out of its path.

If Ron had ever used even half of the litany of curses pouring from Millie's mouth, he would have tasted soap for a year. The redhead struggled to restrain the bereaved girl whose fury was completely directed at her imprudent housemate. Pansy had, at least, been wise enough to scramble back over her table to put some distance between her and the girl raining insults upon her.

"-and if I find out you're the bloody damn coward who poisoned Nick's cat, I will fucking kill you, Parkinson!" Millie shrieked, fighting to free her wand arm from Ron's hold. "I swear to-"

"WHAT is going on here?"

The class fell abruptly still and silent, except for Millie, who continued to try prying her wrist away from the redhead. It only lasted a moment, before Pansy quickly gathered her senses.

"Professor, she tried to attack me!" she accused, angry now that she was fairly certain she wasn't about to be killed.

"She was provoked!" Ron exclaimed at the same time at someone else.

Snape reached out and deftly plucked the wand from Millicent's hand. His expression was black. "If you would kindly take Miss Bulstrode into my office so she can calm herself, I will join you momentarily," he intoned. He was speaking to Ron, though he didn't say the boy's name.

Nodding, Ron steered Millie through the classroom. Her blind rage had receded once the Potions Master had disarmed her, but the redhead kept a hold on her wrists, just in case. Once in the office, the girl again pulled at his grasp and he obligingly let her go.

At first, she started to pace furiously back and forth. After a minute or two, she sank abruptly into a chair in front of Snape's desk and cradled her head between her hands. She didn't begin to cry, though she had started to tremble. A moment later, Snape stalked in.

"Care to explain?" he demanded.

Millie shrugged, offering no further response. Ron answered, instead.

"Parkinson provoked her," he said. "She was saying stuff about Fitz to try to get to her."

"Clearly, Miss Parkinson's childish taunts succeeded better than she had hoped," Snape drawled. Unlocking a drawer in his desk, he pulled out a vial, handing it to Ron when Millicent made no move to look up. The man indicated that he should hand it to her.

"Millie," Ron gently shook her shoulder. "The professor wants you to take this."

The girl looked up, eyeing the potion. Her face was streaked with angry tears. "What is it?"

"Calming draught," answered Snape.

"I don't want it," Millie muttered stubbornly.

"It is not a request, Miss Bulstrode. I will not have an overwrought student sitting in my office."

Shooting the man a mutinous glare, the girl snatched the vial from Ron and uncorked it. She threw the concoction back and swallowed, promptly returning the container to the boy's hand. Then, her head was balanced between her hands again. Ron gave the vial to Snape who then banished it.

"Once she is calm, return to class," the professor directed Ron. The boy nodded and the man left.

Putting a hand on her shoulder as he had the previous day, the redhead waited for her to stop shuddering. Silently, he wondered who Nick was. For the moment, he didn't ask.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Trigger warning: self-harm_

Ron straightened in his seat as someone sat next to Millie. His blue eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” the redhead demanded suspiciously. Nott ignored him, wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders.

“Hey,” he said, “how're you holding up?”

Shaking her head, Millie shrugged a shoulder, giving up on pushing her food around her plate with her fork. She hadn't really eaten anything since Fitz was poisoned. Her worry had effectively killed her appetite.

“You should eat, Mills,” Nott coaxed, nudging her plate a bit with his free hand.

Frowning at his own plate, Ron couldn't help but wonder how it was any of his business. Why show any concern, now? Nott certainly hadn't seemed to care much when Millie was kicked out of their House. And what was with the arm around her shoulders, like they were close friends or something? He couldn't really think that would help comfort her at all.

“Not really hungry,” Millie murmured quietly, pushing her dish far enough away that it vanished down to the kitchens. “I'm gonna go see Fitz.” She shrugged his arm away and Nott obligingly moved back to allow her to stand to her feet.

“Should I come with you?” the brown-haired boy asked.

The girl looked down at him. “Do you know who it was?” she questioned instead.

“I have a suspicion. No proof.”

Millie's eyes narrowed shrewdly – the most expression she had shown since the episode in Potions class earlier. It was almost as though she knew who the other Slytherin suspected and shared in his suspicion. Finally, she shook her head.

“I'm fine,” she repeated the same thing she had said to Ron when he'd asked, “I'm just gonna go by myself.” Stepping over the bench, she walked away. The two boys watched her go before looking back at each other.

“What's your problem, Weasley?” Nott demanded.

“What's up with you suddenly pretending to be Millie's friend?” Ron retorted.

The Slytherin scoffed. “I am her friend. Have been for years.”

“Funny. Wouldn't have guessed that by the way you ignored her with the rest of your House.”

“We had an argument,” Nott stated flatly. “Not that it's any business of yours. Don't think that just because you've been friends with her for two months that you know anything about her.” With a sneer, he rose from the bench and left the Great Hall.

Ron glared at him until he was gone. He stabbed at something on his plate but didn't bring it to his mouth. Dropping the utensil, he gave the plate a shove, watching with a bit of satisfaction as it disappeared from sight.

0o0o0

“Fitz?” Millie made a beeline to the cat, scooping him up gently and nuzzling her face in his soft fur. “Oh, lovey, look at you – you already look a bit better. Thank you,” she addressed the last part to Hagrid, who had started to set some tea after letting the girl inside.

“Well, now, he ain't all better, yet. I 'spect it'll be another two or three days before he's back to his old self,” Hagrid replied.

“But he is getting better,” the girl pointed out, eyes still damp with the tears that had sprung to them upon seeing her beloved pet poking around at the things surrounding the bed Hagrid had set up for him. For his part, Fitz was content to let his mistress cradle him in her arms, far more interested in a nap than further exploration. “Because of you. So, thank you.”

Blushing a bit at the repeated thanks, Hagrid ducked his head a bit sheepishly. “I'm just doing me job, helping look after all the critters 'round here,” he insisted modestly. “How about some tea, then? And I've got a batch o' rockcakes that just finished cooling, if you're interested.”

“That'd be great, Hagrid,” Millie said agreeably. Carefully, she set Fitz in his bed where the cat curled up with a sleepy noise. She was unable to keep the relieved grin off her features. Fitz was going to be okay.

0o0o0

Finding her path blocked, the girl moved to walk around the obstacle, only for her housemate to reposition himself directly in her path once more. Teeth gritting in irritation, she crossed her arms and glared up at him.

“What do you want, Theo?” Pansy demanded.

“I know you're the one who poisoned Millie's cat,” Theo stated evenly. She rolled her eyes at him and moved to pass him again. Reaching out with his arm, he pushed her back in front of him.

Huffing in annoyance, she snapped, “Oh, for Merlin's sake, Theo! What's it to you if I did?”

“What's it to me?” the boy echoed. With both hands, he deftly reached out and gave her a small push by the shoulders. “What it is, _Pansy_ , is you messing with my friend. It's bad enough that your hare-brained stunt earlier this year could have killed her, but then you try to kill her cat?” He pushed her again and she batted at his hands.

“You have _no proof_ , Theodore Nott,” she snarled. “Stop it.”

“Except that Annia Rosier's been talking about it. You know she's a bloody damn gossip. Really, if you expect to keep anything a secret, she's the last person you should tell,” Nott taunted.

“Fine. I poisoned the stupid cat. So what?” Pansy spat. She gave a startled squeak as the boy suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders of her robes.

“So, if you _ever_ do anything to hurt Millie again, you will be very sorry,” he promised.

“I-I'm not afraid of you,” the girl asserted with only a faint waver.

Theo brought his lips close to her ear. “You know who my father is,” he intoned darkly. “You should be.”

“What's this, then. Picking on girls, Nott? Rather low, don't you think?”

“Just establishing an understanding, Malfoy,” Nott returned dryly as he released the girl. “I'm sure you're familiar with the routine.” Pansy straightened her robes, scowling up at him before glancing at Draco. The blond jerked his head in the direction of the common room and the girl quickly departed.

“You should watch yourself,” Draco drawled, moving closer to the other boy. “People might start to question your loyalties.”

“You should train your pets better,” Theo countered. He started to stalk away, pausing only when his housemate called out to him.

“Bulstrode is considered little better than the blood traitor,” the blond pointed out. “You keep associating with her openly and she won't be the only one who's got to watch her back.”

Nott didn't turn around, but Malfoy hadn't, either. “She's my friend. I'm not going to keep pretending otherwise just because she spoke the truth. If that brings me trouble, then fine. So much for House unity,” he scoffed. He paused a moment before adding more quietly, “You might be proud of your father, Malfoy, but I am not proud of mine. Question that all you want.”

Draco did look back over his shoulder at that, watching as his classmate moved off down the corridor. It was just as well that Theo hadn't turned around. Otherwise, he would have seen the troubled expression on Draco's face.

0o0o0

Ron's nightmare that night had been the worst in at least a couple of weeks. It had been a ghastly mutation between real life events and morbid imagination. He had waken, trembling so bad that he was scarcely able to steady the knife he wielded to help release his torment.

Gradually, he began to calm, the pain of the cuts he'd carved into the pale flesh of his forearm anchoring him to the present, providing him relief. He breathed slowly in and out, watching the blood trailing along his arm with a sort of vacant fascination. He still bled. He was still alive. Ready to endure another unending day.

A bitter laugh forced his way from throat at this thought.

Setting the knife on his bedside table, Ron rose from his seat on the edge of his mattress. He pocketed his wand and moved across the room, bleeding arm held palm up to keep it from dripping on the floor. After checking to make sure the corridor was vacant, the boy moved on to the bathroom. As he leaned against the edge of the sink, he silently regarded the oozing cuts for a moment. Clotting was already bringing the bleeding to a standstill. He turned on the facet and placed his arm under the running water, using his other hand to scrub at the injuries and allowing the blood to flow once more.

His arm was starting to gain a notable collection of parallel scars. At first, Ron had been a bit confused. He had used a healing spell, which had never left a scar before. He had looked it up in the library. Apparently, like with the bite mark on his hand, self-inflicted wounds scarred even with the use of magic or potions to heal them.

That appealed to Ron, a bit. Now the hurt he felt on the inside was evidenced outwardly, as well. They were no longer hidden. Except that Ron knew that no one would understand. He had to wear long sleeves, now, so no one would get the wrong idea and assume he wanted to kill himself. Because he didn't. Ron didn't want to die; he wanted to feel better, and nothing else seemed to be working.

Content that his new injuries were clean even though he had sanitized the blade with a spell before using it, Ron took out his wand and murmured a healing spell. As the pain almost instantly receded, he felt a bit cheated. Maybe he should start letting them heal on their own, then the pain would last longer.

Rubbing his thumb over one of the new marks as he walked back up the corridor, Ron paused outside his door. He gazed at the corner. Millie's room was on the adjacent hall. He wasn't sure which room. Not that it mattered. She was probably asleep. He hadn't seen her since dinner, though, and he hoped that she and Fitz were all right.

He went back into his room and crawled into bed. Staring at his shadowed ceiling, he tried not to think. Finally, he drifted back into a restless sleep.

0o0o0

_He had dropped to his knees at the bedside, clasping the frail hand between his own. He was crying. He didn't intend to be crying, he just couldn't stop it. The tears had sprang to his eyes and started to trail down his cheeks of their own accord._

“ _Mum?” the boy spoke, trying to rouse her. “Mum, can you hear me? It's me. It's Severus. Mum?”_

_Fever-bright eyes had opened sluggishly, moving to rest upon him. “Sev,” she breathed softly, lips pulling into a wan smile just for him before she frowned. “What are you doing here? You should... be in school.”_

“ _It's winter hols, mum,” Severus said a bit sharply. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, although it was unclear who he was trying to comfort. “Why didn't you owl me that you were sick? I could have come home. I could have found you a healer – I'll find one, now!” He rose to his feet, but her weak grasp on his hand stayed him._

“ _There's... no money for healers. Even... if there were, your father... 'd never pay,” she told him._

_The teen angrily swiped the tears from his face with his free hand. “Then, I'll make the potions for you, myself!” he exclaimed. “You know I'm good enough to! I'll make potions for you. I'll make you well, again!”_

_She sadly shook her head. They didn't have money for potions or ingredients, either, or she'd have made them herself. Even if they did, there was one other problem. “Too late,” Eileen murmured. “I'm sorry, love. It's... too late...”_

Severus turned in his sleep, just as he had in yanking his arm away from his mother all those years ago. He toppled out of bed onto the floor. Fingers scrabbling against the floor as though seeking purchase, the Potions Master simply lay there for a moment in a heap of limbs and bedding.

It was the end of November and his least favorite holiday was fast approaching. What he wouldn't give to skip Christmas, just one year. The approaching holiday would be the worst one in years – he just knew it.

Pushing himself up off the floor, he left his bed in disarray and went straight to the bathroom. He showered, letting cool water flow over him in a vain attempt to wash the memories away. There was no way he could get any sleep like this. The dreams continued to plague him and at the moment it seemed they would never go away.

After getting dressed, he proceeded directly to his private lab, wet hair tied back from his face. He was going to make himself a batch of Dreamless Sleep whether Poppy liked it or not. And really, it was none of Poppy's business. He was a grown man. Severus just wanted to be able to sleep unmolested. Was that so much to ask?

He tried to ignore the voice in his head as he set up the cauldron.

“ _Severus, please – can't you see what you're doing to yourself?”_

The Potions Master started putting together the necessary ingredients. Moving around his worktable, he pulled out the tools he would need, adding them to the collection on the table.

“ _I want you to promise me, Severus.”_

He began grinding beetle carapaces into a fine dust with well-practiced motions.

“ _Your... history with this potion makes you particularly susceptible to a relapse. Promise you'll let me hold you accountable on this.”_

“ _Poppy –”_

“ _Severus,_ please _.”_

“ _I... I promise.”_

Snape's hand shot out, sweeping a glass jar onto the floor where it landed with a satisfying smash. Abruptly extinguishing the flame beneath the cauldron, he swept from the room and stalked out into the corridors. Sleep was no longer possible, least of all that night. The students already thought he was an ill-tempered bat who never slept. Might as well live up to expectations.

0o0o0

Millie was practically bubbly when Ron emerged the next morning to find her and Mrs. Norris waiting for him. “Fitz is getting better!” she exclaimed, relief practically emanating from her in waves. It was almost overbearing, really, although Ron understood the reason for her cheerfulness. He almost asked what she had meant when she referred to Fitz as 'Nick's cat,' but sensing that that might kill her mood, he put it off again.

“What's with you and Nott?” he asked instead as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a short while later.

“Hm?” Millie looked up from feeding Mrs. Norris a bit of sausage. “Oh, Teddy? We're friends. We were kinda fighting, but I guess he's forgiven me, now.” The girl shrugged a shoulder before turning her attention to putting food on her plate.

_Teddy_. So that's who she'd been referring to. He wasn't sure how he felt about sharing her friendship with the likes of Theodore Nott. Nott senior was said to be a right nasty git and it was rumored that 'Teddy' took after him in that regard.

“Are you okay?”

Ron looked up to find Millie's hazel eyes settled upon him worriedly. “Yeah. Fine,” he said, then admitted, “Had a nightmare last night and couldn't really get back to sleep.” He poked at his food.

“You have nightmares a lot, don't you?”

It wasn't really a question, despite how it was spoken. Ron could tell by the knowing expression on the girl's face. He answered, anyway.

“Yeah. A few.”

“You should ask for a sleeping draught. It would help.”

“They're not that bad,” the redhead lied.

Millie frowned, clearly not believing him. “Well, if you ever want to talk–”

“I don't,” Ron interrupted sharply. She looked a bit stung and he sighed. “Can we just eat? I'm just tired.”

“Yeah,” Millie murmured softly. Ron was slightly pained to note that her cheer had tapered off significantly. They turned to their breakfasts and continued eating in relative silence.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **!!! Major trigger warning this chapter: Self-harm**  
>  _
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Be honest. How many of you thought I'd never return? *raises own hand* Well, I am happy to say that I have proven myself wrong, if nothing else. I can't promise that I will update with any regularity, as I feel we've all learned that I tend to disappear for months on end, but I will do my best to finish this story because I really feel Ron and everyone deserves to find some sort of closure or happiness. In any case, I am sorry for the horrifically long delay, and I will certainly try to update more frequently than every five years. (good gracious! D:)_

"We should run."

Ron looked up at the girl across from him. Millie had her chin propped in one hand as she peered back on him, clearly awaiting his response. "Run where?" the redhead asked in confusion.

"I dunno," the girl shrugged a shoulder, straightening up a bit to better stab at her salad. "Around the castle? Along the forest?"

"You mean... like, for exercise?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Because there's snow?" Ron ventured skeptically.

Millie sighed at him. "Okay, then, somewhere inside for now. There's that one room that can be whatever you need it to be, right? Where did I hear that was..? Whatever. I'm going to start running. Could be fun."

"Could be sweaty," the boy pointed out.

"That does seem to be the point of exercising," the Slytherin drawled. "You gonna join me?"

"Think I'll pass," said Ron. He continued picking at his food, shaking his head. Millie was not the least fazed by his skepticism. Either he would join her or not, regardless, she was going to take up the activity – at least until she gave up on it.

The rest of the meal passed quietly, neither really having anything to say. It was a companionable silence, save, of course, for the murmur of conversation all around them.

For her part, Millie was working out how she would go about her new jogging routine. Was a person supposed to warm up before running? And was it better to do so at the beginning of the day or the end? Before eating or after? She pondered how she would go about finding the magical room that was whatever a person needed, assuming it actually existed and wasn't just another school legend.

Ron's thoughts were less benign. The cuts he'd been carving into his arm no longer healed completely when he cast a charm upon them. In fact, that morning, he hadn't even bothered with the spell. What was the use, if it did little more than close them? Although his arm was rather more tender than it had been before, so maybe healing charms weren't entirely useless, just yet, after all.

"Mills."

Both students looked up, Millie because Nott was addressing her and Ron for the same reason. The difference was that the girl greeted her housemate with a small smile while the redhead repressed a glower. He still didn't trust the other boy's motives, but Millie seemed to have forgiven him, so he just kept his mouth shut.

"Ready to go to Herbology?" Theo asked Millie. It seemed he was intent on ignoring Ron, as well.

"Yeah, I'm done," the girl replied. She turned her attention back to Ron. "We're still studying in the library before dinner, right?" Millie had reached her hand towards him.

Ron straightened, drawing his left arm out of her reach as surreptitiously as he could. "Yeah, of course," he told her, offering a small smile. "See you in class, later."

"Of course," Millie grinned. She pushed her plate back so it would go down to the kitchens and rose to her feet, turning to her housemate as she hoisted her bag up to her shoulder.

The redhead watched them go, unable to help feeling the least put out that he had to share his friend with the like of Theodore Nott. Who'd have ever anticipated that? Pushing the rest of his lunch away, he blew out a breath. Ron knew he was being ridiculous. After all, Millie was a Slytherin, it only made sense that she'd have at least one friend in her own House. Probably more, though it seemed Nott was the only one talking to her.

And it wasn't like he didn't have other friends.

Ron shot a glance down the table, gaze falling on Harry and Hermione still seated farther down. Hesitating a long moment, he finally stood and walked over to where they sat. "Hey," he greeted them almost shyly.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, clearly surprised but pleased to find that he had approached them.

For his part, he'd winced before he could put any thought into suppressing the response. Her greeting had conjured to his mind a time when his sister had used that exact same tone. Hermione noticed almost immediately, of course, her expression growing horrified and bewildered as she realized she'd done something wrong, but didn't know precisely what.

"Hi," Ron said, mustering up a small but genuine smile before she could start apologizing. "I... um, I was wondering if you guys wanted to go to History of Magic together."

"That'd be great," Harry said, smiling at the redhead. "We were just finishing up."

"That's right!" Hermione added eagerly, rising from her seat on the bench. "It would be wonderful going to class with you again. It's been too long."

Her happiness at such a simple thing they had once all taken for granted hurt a bit. It made Ron feel badly about having needed space from his friends. It wasn't their fault that something terrible had happened to his family, yet, it was almost like he was sort of punishing them, anyway.

"I've missed you guys," he told them. It was true. He still wasn't sure he was ready to spend a lot of time with them, but he had missed them. Harry and Hermione were his closest friends, after all. That had been part of the problem, the reason they reminded him so keenly of his loss. "Betcha Harry'll be the first to fall asleep."

"Not a chance, mate," Harry grinned. He, too, was happy that Ron was joining them. It was so easy to see, even though he was better at restraining himself than Hermione was. Hermione was practically vibrating with excitement. It was a bit endearing, really. Ron was quite certain she wanted to hug him, but she refrained, for which he was grateful. He wasn't sure he could take a hug, just yet.

"We'd best be going, or we'll be late," Hermione declared, grabbing her things and ushering the boys towards the door. "Did you guys finish the reading Binns assigned?"

Ron had to look away for a minute, blinking to clear the mist from his eyes. It felt so nice to be falling into a once old routine. For that moment, it made him normal again.

"Well, I tried, 'Mione," Ron replied, shooting an impish look over at Harry, "but I think I fell asleep halfway through."

"Honestly, Ronald!" the girl chided.

"Well, it was an awfully boring reading," Harry chimed in.

Shaking her head at them, Hermione launched into a recap of said reading in an effort to prove it wasn't as boring as they were making it out to be. A small smile took up residence upon Ron's face. He had really, really missed the both of them.

0o0o0

" _Are you avoiding me?"_

_He had hesitated, a hand poised over the potion he was brewing. Had he been avoiding the girl? "It wasn't my intention," Severus finally replied._

_Lily moved to stand across from him, green eyes fixed upon him worriedly. "But you have been avoiding me, Sev, intention or not. I know what you're going through is very hard-"_

" _Please, don't," he rasped out._

" _But it is, Sev, and you need to talk about it. You've lost your mother! And we both know what your father is like. You can't just bottle this up like some... some potion you can stash at the back of the cupboard and forget about. You need to talk about it. Talk to me!" the Gryffindor pleaded._

" _I can't..." Severus protested, the words catching in his throat. How could he possibly explain this to her? How could get her to understand that just looking at her made him remember what he'd so recently lost? "I can't do that. I need more time."_

_She gave a soft sigh, expression torn between sadness and frustration. "But I've given you time, Sev. Time and space, but you keep getting farther away from me," she said. "And the people you've started spending time with – they're no good. They're trouble, Severus. You know they are!"_

" _I know," he murmured, eyes closing briefly in self-recrimination. She was right, of course. She was always right._

_For a long moment, Lily continued standing quietly opposite him. He could feel the weight of her gaze, feel her silent pleading to let her in, to let her help him, but he didn't know how. At that moment, he wanted nothing less than oblivion. He wanted everything to stop, for his agonizing grief to end, but still it continued. Despite all his best efforts, nothing could ever appease his pain. Not for long._

_He added the next ingredient and stirred._

" _At least promise you'll be careful," Lily implored._

" _I'll be careful," Severus responded automatically._

" _And remember you can tell me anything. Including why you're holed up in a classroom brewing Dreamless Sleep. Again."_

" _It's just to ease my nightmares," the boy had answered. He finally raised his head to look at her properly, startled to find there were tears in her eyes._

" _Is it?" she'd questioned doubtfully._

"Professor Snape, sir?"

The Potions Master blinked slowly, focusing back on the present. A six-year Hufflepuff gazed at him uncertainly. She didn't seem to be the only one.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"Sir, we're not sure what went wrong with our potion, but it's... well, it's red, sir," she informed him nervously, her partner nodding in timid agreement.

Sighing, Snape moved over to their table. He gestured impatiently for the stirring rod, carefully drawing it from the brew to observe the potion's viscosity. The consistency seemed good and they had at least gotten a red color, so it certainly wasn't the worst mistake that could have been made. In fact, it was one that was rather readily fixed.

"You've added too much valerian," he informed them. "Counter with a sprig of lavender and a half measure of standard ingredient. After you've added that, stir widdershins for thirty seconds, then simmer until it takes on the proper color."

"Yes, professor," said the second of the pair, already moving to follow the new directions.

"Sir," one of the Ravenclaws spoke up, "what are we going to do with all this Dreamless Sleep?"

He was quite certain it was all in his mind, but time seemed to slow for a moment before inexplicably speeding up once more. "Those potions which have been completed properly will be sent to the hospital wing," Snape said quietly. "Continue working."

Several of the students exchanged looks between themselves, noticing their professor seemed a bit off, but no one ventured to say anything further. For his part, Snape was ready for this particular lesson to be over.

0o0o0

When their respective Houses met up for Care of Magical Creatures, Millie parted Nott's company in favor of joining Ron again. Harry and Hermione remained at his side, both of them reluctant to part from the redhead so soon. True to form, the Slytherin seemed unbothered by their presence. In fact, she and Harry seemed to get along fine. It wasn't hard to tell that Hermione wasn't too pleased with this development, although she refrained from saying anything.

Fortunately, Hagrid's lesson for the day kept them occupied and the need for interaction was minimal. By the time the lesson ended, Ron was ready to part ways with the two Gryffindors. He'd enjoyed his time in their company, even if it was only during classes, but the reminders were still too many for him relish the thought of prolonging their time together.

Harry seemed to understand this. Hermione was obviously still struggling, but didn't give him a hard time. Ron was grateful to both of them.

"The manure we had to use for this lesson is the most disgusting stuff Sprout has ever had in her class," Millie informed Ron as they made their way to the library. "Just the smell alone – Merlin's balls, it's so gross. You may want to invest in a smell-desensitizing draught before you go." The girl gave a shudder.

"Blimey, was it that bad?" Ron laughed. "Bet I've smelled worse. One summer, my brother Char-" He broke off, the grief seeming to slam into his chest like a physical force. The story had begun to trip off his tongue before he'd even thought about it.

Millie had placed a hand on his shoulder, hazel eyes peering at him in concern. "Hey," she said softly. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me. I'm sure you're right. Just breathe, okay?"

He nodded his head, sucking in a deep breath and letting it back out. "I'm all right," he said a bit shakily. "I just... I forgot for a moment."

The girl frowned, brows drawing together. "Did you want to put off studying?" she asked.

"No. No, I'm better, now. It's fine," Ron said. He continued forward, pushing through the doors into the library with Millie following.

Settling at a table in one of the alcoves, the two of them pulled out various textbooks. Millie got up to collect a few books from the shelves before returning again, and they set in to work.

For a while, they worked quietly, speaking up only to ask a question about the work they had in common or to share something the other might find interesting. Ron could tell that Millie was shooting his speculative looks when he wasn't looking, but he figured it was because of how he'd responded to almost taking about his family.

He was wrong. Perhaps not entirely, but the fact remained that if anything, his recent episode only added to her reasons for studying him.

It had become easy for him to forget, at times, that Millicent Bulstrode was a Slytherin. For the most part, she behaved so differently from what he'd expected her or even her housemates to act, that he'd come to think of her separately from that portion of who she was.

But she was a Slytherin, and Slytherins in general were nothing if not observant. Like many of her House, Millie could spot surreptitiousness a mile away – especially in one of her friends. Especially when it was behavior she'd seen before.

So, while Ron was sufficiently distracted by a portion of one of his texts, Millie made her move. Reaching out, she wrapped a hand around his left forearm.

Ron flinched, letting out a hiss and promptly tried to pull arm away. She was faster, her other hand shooting out to capture his wrist in a vice-like grip. Expression determined, Millie started to push at his sleeve.

"Don't!" he exclaimed, pulse quickening. He'd jerked his arm back, but she only tightened her grip. The girl gave him a long, hard stare, then proceeded to push his sleeve back anyway. Ron felt his heart sink as the scars and half-healed cuts along his arm became visible.

Millie sat frozen, stricken gaze fixed upon the sight. She looked for all the world like somebody had just smacked her and she didn't know why.

Twisting his wrist from her grasp, Ron quickly pulled away. "Millie, I-"

"I'm telling," Millie interrupted softly, still staring at the place his arm had been on the table.

"What? No, you can't!" Ron protested. "I... I'm not trying to – that is, it's not that I want to... You can't tell, okay? Please, I – I won't do it, again."

Her gaze snapped to his as she lifted her chin, expression growing somewhat mulish. "Good," she bit out crisply. Ron vaguely noted that she sounded like 'Bulstrode' again. "I'm still telling." Millie rose from her seat and turned to go.

Ron lunged after her, this time the one to grab her arm. "And I told you, you can't!" he growled, suddenly angry. "I don't want you to. If you were really my friend, you'd do as I asked!"

She whirled on him, eyes flashing fury and bright with a sheen of unshed tears. Yanking her arm away, she looked him dead in the eye. "I really am your friend," she declared, a faint waver in her voice, "and I really am telling, and nothing you say is going to stop me, Ron. Nothing!" With that, she stalked away.

Ron gaped after her. Panic welled up within him. She was going to tell. People were going to know. No one would ever understand. They would all think that he wanted to seriously hurt himself, that he wanted to die, but he didn't! He just wanted to feel better, to release some of his agony. Who was Millicent bloody Bulstrode or anyone else to judge him?! They'd make him stop! Then how would he cope? It was the only thing that made the pain a little less, and they would make him stop.

Hurriedly, he crammed his belongings into his bag, leaving Millie's for whenever she returned for them herself. He needed to get back to his room, to... to do _something_. Maybe she would change her mind. Maybe they could still talk this out, but Ron had no idea where she went. Would she go to Madam Pomfrey? His Head of House?

His room. That was the best place to be. Back to his room, back to... Back to where he had left the rest of his things.

He made it back in record time, barely able to get his key in the door, his hands were shaking so hard. Shutting and locking the door behind him, he dropped his bag on the floor and hurried to his desk. He needed... He needed to find his potions kit, maybe hide it so it couldn't be taken away. Clutching the case, he looked wildly around the room for a likely hiding spot, but there were none. The curse of having a room so simply set up was that there were no good hiding places, nowhere that wouldn't be obvious.

Ron found he was gasping. The anxiety and the panic and the fear reaching an all time high. His only real way of coping and it was about to be taken from him.

Setting the case down on the desk, he opened it, fingers fumbling to pick up the knife. He'd just said he would stop, even though he knew he hadn't truly meant it, he'd just wanted Millie to promise not to tell. Now, it no longer mattered. She was going to tell and it would taken away from him, anyway. So, what could it hurt? Just one more time to help get him by.

0o0o0

"Professor!"

Snape looked up as the door to his classroom slammed open to admit a distraught Miss Bulstrode. "What is it?" he inquired, moving towards her. "Does Hagrid require another potion for your cat?" It had been his understanding that said feline was already fully recovered.

But the girl was shaking her head, even though tears had begun to streak her face. "No, sir, it's Ron!" Millicent exclaimed. "Please, you have to help him. You need to stop him!"

"What of Mr. Weasley? What is he going to do?" the Potions Master demanded urgently.

"He's been hurting himself! Cuts all along his arm – I saw them! I told him I was going to tell. He told me not to, but I couldn't... not again – please, Professor, please, help him." The girl was all but sobbing now, clearly frightened and concerned for her friend, although the man was beginning to suspect there was even more to it than that.

"Where is he?" Snape asked.

"We were in the library," Millie answered, "but I don't think he would have stayed there. He probably went back to his room..."

The man was already sweeping from the classroom, his student following quickly on his heels. A knot of dread had formed in his stomach. He knew all too well the emotions that drove one to such means of coping. After all, he'd been there before.

" _This is not the answer, my boy."_

" _I just want it to stop – I just want the pain to go away!"_

Mounting the stairs, he took them two at a time, long strides carrying him forward with haste. He had just reached the second-floor landing when a magical alarm sounded loudly in his ear. The Watch. Snape broke into a run, closing the remaining distance to the Gryffindor's room as quickly as he could.

"Mr. Weasley," he said loudly, pounding at the door. "Ron!" There was no immediate answer and the professor didn't wait for one, instead using his faculty password to gain access to the room.

Inside, Ron leaned unsteadily against his desk. His right hand was clasped tightly over his left arm, blood oozing between his fingers. The bloodied knife from his potions kit lay where it had fallen on the floor.

"Foolish child!" Snape hissed, crossing the room, a spell to stem the bleeding already on his lips.

"It was... it was accident," the Gryffindor rushed to explain as the man took his arm and started casting with his wand. "I didn't mean... It wasn't – I didn't want to..." Movement in the doorway drew his attention and Ron looked up to find Millie's tear-streaked face gaping at him in horror. "Millie, I didn't mean to-"

"Hospital wing," the Potions Master commanded once he'd finished. The mediwitch would need to finish the job. He took the boy by the elbow to steer him towards the door, moving to catch the teen when he stumbled. "Miss Bulstrode," Snape snapped over his shoulder, "she'll undoubtedly know already, but go to the Hospital Wing and inform Madam Pomfrey that I will arrive with Mr. Weasley, shortly."

Millie didn't voice a response, but her hurrying footsteps echoed down the hall almost immediately.

"I really... didn't mean to," Ron insisted as his professor conjured a stretcher and maneuvered him onto it. "I just – I panicked, and the knife..."

"You needn't explain to me," Snape told him, ushering the stretcher out the door. "You will be taken care of. Just be quiet, for now."

"But I'm sorry," the boy whispered miserably.

The Potions Master repressed a sigh as they started up the stairs. "As am I."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Trigger warnings this chapter: self-harm, suicide, there is also mention of substance (potion) abuse_

" _It's all right," the man's voice was quiet, gentle. "No one is angry with you."_

_The teen refused to look at him, gaze focused on a flagstone instead. "Might not be angry, but they're disappointed. That's almost worse."_

" _But not disappointed_ in _you, my boy," his professor reassured._

" _Then, why am I being punished?"_

" _Severus, lad. You aren't being punished," Slughorn told him. "You just need a little closer supervision for a while and the staff all agreed that it would best if you stayed with me rather than in your dorm. You're going through something very difficult, and it's not a wonder you aren't dealing with it well on your own. I, for one, as your Head of House ought to have seen to it that you were all right. I've failed you in this – we've all failed you. We, the Headmaster and myself, all of the staff, we just want to see you well, again. This isn't a punishment, my boy."_

" _Why don't have a choice in it, then?" Severus demanded, gaze flitting to his Head of House and away again._

" _Because sometimes, we don't know what's best for ourselves. You need someone to keep an eye on you. If not to make sure you're coping well, then to help you through the withdrawals you will have. You do know the side effects of prolonged used of Dreamless Sleep, do you not?" the Potions Master asked._

_The boy gave a sigh, frustrated with the situation, with so many people knowing about his weakness. "If I didn't before, I know, now," he grumbled._

" _It's going to be all right, Severus," Slughorn cajoled. "You're going to be all right. I'm going to help you – as long as you'll let me."_

0o0o0

"Severus?"

Snape looked down at Poppy as she laid a hand on his arm, her gaze alone asking after his welfare. "This is the room the Headmaster brought me that night," he said, casting a final glance at the window before turning away from it. He didn't need to clarify to which night he referred. Twenty years had passed, but they both remembered it clearly.

"Better here than somewhere else," the mediwitch said warmly. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze before stepping away again.

There were in a private room off of the main ward of the Hospital Wing, most often used for faculty. Sometimes students were treated there, however, when it was deemed their condition required greater privacy.

"How is he?" Snape asked, eyes settling upon the red-haired teen in the bed across the room.

"Physically, he's okay, apart from the scars," Pomfrey answered. "I was able to close all his wounds, including the ones his magic would not longer let him heal himself. I've had him take a blood replenisher and an antipyretic for the slight fever he was running. In fact, I was about to allow him visitors if he was agreeable – or at least one. Miss Bulstrode has been outside the door since you brought him here."

The Potions Master nodded. He'd noticed that his student had remained, as well. "Miss Bulstrode has been very concerned about the boy," he stated. "I admit that I'm not entirely certain why. She was very distraught when she came to me with the discovery that he had been self-harming."

Poppy gave a shrewd look at this, although she didn't utter whatever thought was in her head. Instead, she moved over to her patient to ask if he even wanted a visitor, just yet.

Ron watched a bit anxiously as the mediwitch opened the door to let Millie in. He fidgeted with the edge of the bandages wrapped around his arm. In truth, he wasn't entirely sure he did want visitors, but he somehow felt that he owed some sort of explanation to her, even if she had told when he begged her not to. Perhaps because she had told – that had turned out to be a good thing, after all, hadn't it?

The Slytherin had paused in the doorway, gazing at him from across the room for a moment before moving to his bedside with her eyes fixed on the floor. She stood there wordlessly, hands wringing together in a way that reminded him a bit of Hermione. Merlin, what would Hermione and Harry think when they learned the truth?

"Millie, I-" he began.

Millie's head shot up. There was a manic expression on her face as she reached out to grab the edge of his blanket with both hands. "You can't _do_ that," she gritted out. Ron opened his mouth to defend himself, to tell her that it had been an accident, but before he could, she sobbed out one more word: "Promise!"

He stared at her bewilderedly as tears started to trickle down her face. With growing alarm, the Gryffindor slowly realized that she wasn't just upset or even angry. She was terrified. For him.

"I... I promise," Ron said.

She peered intently at him, hazel eyes holding his own. It was a bit like she was waiting for the words to sink in. After about a minute, her expression crumpled and she stepped away, her arms wrapping around her middle as she shook her head.

"Millie-"

"I don't believe you," Millie murmured brokenly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I can't – I don't believe you!" Turning abruptly on her heel, she fled from the room.

Talking quietly in the far corner, Pomfrey and Snape looked up in surprise, neither having anticipated the girl's sudden departure. The mediwitch promptly made her way towards her patient.

Ron was stung, the seeming rejection piercing straight to the heart. He'd promised, hadn't he? And even if he failed, Madam Promfrey and Snape and probably all the professors knew now, so surely they wouldn't allow him to hurt himself, again. Maybe they hadn't known each other very long, but Ron felt that they'd been through quite a lot in that short amount of time. Was she really going to give up on him, now?

And wouldn't he deserve it if she did?

0o0o0

Silence seemed to reign the hallway. Had there not been a privacy charm cast on the room across from the girls' lavatory, however, loud, desperate cries would have been clearly audible.

But there was a charm on the room, for Millie had managed to cast it before her wand fell from her trembling fingers. She collapsed bonelessly to the floor, her body shaken by violent, soul-gutted sobs known only to those suffering immense emotional agony. Fitz paced back and forth, meowing loudly, distressed by his inability to comfort the girl.

She was a horrible friend. Who _said_ something like that to someone who was already so hurt? Millicent Bulstrode had never really considered herself a selfish person, but obviously she was. Clearly, the only person she cared about was herself and... and...

The thought made her cry all the harder.

The air was charged with the magic released in response to her anguish, her hurt made tangible. Pressing herself into the closest corner, she drew her legs to chest. Curled tightly upon herself, Millicent wept.

0o0o0

Loud voices from the main ward drew Ron's dispassionate gaze from the ceiling. He recognized that urgent pleading, the boy realized a bit fondly. A moment later, the door was opened to allow both Hermione and Harry to rush inside. Ron shifted so he was sitting up to greet them, although he pulled the blanket up so it covered his forearms.

"Hey, guys," he said, mustering up a smile that cost him far too much energy.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, jogging over to his bed and throwing her arms around him. Ron flinched at the sudden proximity but endured the hug until she pulled away. "A second-year said they saw Professor Snape bringing you here and that you were bleeding! What happened? Did someone attack you? Are you all right?"

"Take it easy, Hermione," Harry spoke up, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder. He offered Ron a small, reassuring smile. "Give him a chance to speak."

There was something knowing in Harry's gaze, or maybe it was just the way the green had settled briefly upon his hidden forearms. Either way, Ron was grateful to him for slowing Hermione's barrage of questions.

"I'm... I'm okay," he said, somewhat honestly. Physically, he was okay, at the moment. Mentally and emotionally... well, even Ron knew that he'd been a mess since what happened in the summer. It looked like that wasn't changing any time soon. "I just had a bit of an accident. Pomfrey got me all fixed up. I'm okay, really."

"What could you have possibly been doing that you wound up in a private room in the Hospital Wing?" Hermione stated incredulously. "If it weren't something serious, Ron, you'd been in the main ward – how could you be okay?"

"'Mione," Harry said, tugging at her arm, tone pleading with her to drop it.

"No, Harry, I'm right! You know it!" she burst out in frustration, turning back to Ron. "And where is that new 'friend' of yours? Weren't you supposed to be studying with her when you had this accident? I don't see her, anywhere! Where's _Millie,_ if she's such a good friend?"

"Hermione!" snapped Harry, tone sharper.

"Just lay off of her, already!" Ron exclaimed at the same time, jumping to the Slytherin's defense. "Millie's the reason I'm here and not... Just... Look, I did it to myself, okay? I didn't mean to... but still, I did it to myself. And if it weren't for Millie, I'd... I don't expect you to like her, but she saved me, Hermione. She's my friend and she's the reason I'm here." Or at least, Millie had been his friend.

Hermione was stunned into silence, brown eyes wide. She stared at him in shock, while behind her, Harry pressed his lips together and briefly diverted his gaze. "Oh, Ron," she finally murmured sadly, eyes brimming with tears. Ron could tell she was struggling, trying to come up with something to say in response to his revelation.

"Glad you're all right, mate," Harry told him. His green eyes held a sadness and concern that Ron wished he could take away.

Ron hadn't, at first, intended to tell them the real reason he was in the Hospital Wing but in defending Millie, it had all come pouring out. He felt at once defensive and ashamed of how he'd been coping with his grief. This in turn had made him uncertain about how they might respond. He had half-expected anger. The sadness and worry he now faced was almost harder to stomach. It made him feel a bit pathetic.

"You know you can come to us, right?" Hermione spoke up, tone hesitant. "I mean, in the future. If you need to talk or you... or you're struggling. You can come to us. I know it's been hard, because we – because of what happened, but we want to help you. We're still your friends, Ron."

The girl sat on the edge of his bed, resting a hand atop his knee. She was a bit imploring, true, but she wasn't being as insistent as she had at the beginning of the year when she seemed to believe that their friendship with him was the answer. Right then, Hermione was sincerely and honestly offering to be there.

"I know," Ron replied. He blinked furiously against the sudden moisture in his eyes. "And I'll try. I'm sorry that..."

"You don't have to apologize to us," Harry told him, moving to sit opposite Hermione. "Not for... this, or for spending so much time with Millicent instead of us. We know what you're going through. We just want you to know that we're still here for you. Whenever you're ready, when it hurts less for you to face us, we are here for you."

Ron looked between the two of them, taking in their earnestness, and yes, their concern and sadness, too. Even before, when he felt that Hermione was refusing to take a hint or Harry was being a bit oblivious again, he knew deep down that they cared about him. He was never just some devastated orphan to them. He was their friend, Ronald Weasley, and he was important to them.

Pulling his arms out from under the blanket, he reached out, leaning forward so he could take each of their hands. "Thank you," he said. He was definitely crying, now. Who knew all this stuff could be so emotionally taxing? "I know... I haven't forgotten, I promise. And I know it hasn't been exactly easy for you, either. So, thank you, guys. Thank you for not giving up on me."

Hermione cupped his hand between both of hers, soothingly stroking the back of it with her thumbs. At the same time, Harry gripped his other hand firmly, the pressure grounding him.

"Never, Ron," Hermione promised, and she was crying, too. "We will _never_ give up on you." The way Harry clapped his free hand on his shoulder let Ron know that he agreed.

0o0o0

_Loud meowing had drawn her attention. Bare feet padded along the hardwood floor._

" _Fitz? What's the matter?"_

"Hi, Millie-billie."

Millster.

"Heya, Mills. Miss me?"

"Stop!" the girl protested with a laugh, ducking away from the teen's hand so he couldn't ruffle her hair anymore. "Yes! I missed you."

_Fitz was at the bathroom door, clawing at the frame. How long had Nick been in there?_

"It's okay. I'll be fine, I promise," he reassured, gazing kindly into her worried eyes.

"But why would you..."

"It's... complicated."

" _Nick?" she knocked at the door, pressing an ear against it when there was no reply._

The teen had taken the gift with a look of surprise. "What's this, then? Did my birthday come early?"

"It's just because. For the bestest big brother in the world!"

" _Nick, your cat," she said, knocking again. Frowning, the girl pulled her wand from the pocket of her pajamas._

"I'm going to stop, so don't tell mum and dad, all right?"

"You promise?"

"I promise."

_Knocking one more time, the twelve-year-old raised her voice to carry through the door. "Nick? I'm coming in, all right?" She pointed her wand at the doorknob. "_ Alohomora. _"_

The girl fought back a grin as the teen wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Mill-bill," he said in an overly-dramatic voice. "No being grumpy. You hear? Fine, I'm going to tickle you."

"No!" she protested immediately.

"Yes! That's how we wandless folk deal with grumpy little witches!"

She gave a squeal, struggling to escape the attacking fingers.

_The door swung open and for a moment, the girl just stood there, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. "Nick..?"_

"I'm okay, Mills."

_Horror welled in her heart. "Nick?!"_

"Promise."

_She was screaming, young voice echoing through the house. Nick remained motionless, his own blood staining the floor around him._

"NICK!"

Millie woke with a strangled cry, flailing momentarily until she recognized her surroundings. She pressed both hands over her mouth, muffling the distressed sounds, although she and Fitz were the only ones who could be disturbed by them. For a long moment, she continued to sob, rocking back and forth in a vain attempt at self-comfort.

Then, abruptly, she rose to her feet and yanked open the door. She didn't bother to close it as she dashed out into the darkened corridor beyond.

It was some time later that Madam Pomfrey found the girl. Millie had fallen asleep with her head on the edge of Ron's mattress, his right hand clasped tightly in her own. Ordinarily, she'd have made the girl go back to her room, but she suspected from the dried tear-tracks streaking the child's face that she was precisely where she needed to be.


	17. Chapter 17

****Something soft was tickling the side of his face. Was that what had woken him? As he roused slowly to consciousness, he felt a low rumbling coming from his chest. He was just connecting that to the sound that could only be made by a purring cat when something long and fluffy hit him in the face, making him sputter.

Ron's eyes blinked open and he turned his head to find that Mrs. Norris had commandeered half of his pillow. Fitz was sprawled out atop of him, head and fore paws resting contentedly against his rib cage while the tom's hindquarters pressed into the boy's stomach.

Shifting, Ron next noticed a lack of sensation in his right fingers. He tried to wriggle them, only to find that their movement was restricted. Blue eyes blinking blearily, he looked down to find that Millie was clinging to his hand. Her head lay on the mattress beside him, black hair fanned out across the blanket. That position couldn't possibly be comfortable.

The boy put more effort into moving his hand, this time, as it was really starting to feel uncomfortable. Fitz made a sleepy noise in protest. “Um, Millie?” he spoke up, voice a bit hoarse from sleeping.

Millie gave a quiet grunt that was no more than a response to hearing her name. Her grip on his hand tightened reflexively – not that he could understand _how_ , as she was already holding it rather tightly – and it certainly did nothing for the numbness in his fingers. In fact, they had started tingling and it sort of hurt.

“Millie, I can't feel my fingers,” Ron said more loudly, tone a little petulant. Mrs. Norris' tail hit him in the face again.

Slowly, her eyes opened to peer at him. When he wiggled his hand, this time, she obligingly released it. Sitting up, she pushed her hair back out of her face. She gazed at him a bit uncertainly. “I'm sorry,” she said softly.

“Don't worry about it,” Ron told her, flexing his hand to return the sensation to it more quickly. Carefully, he moved the cat on his chest so he could move into a sitting position. The cat on his pillow shot him an accusing look before abandoning her place and padding off across the floor.

“No,” Millie shook her head. “I mean, sorry for what I said. You didn't deserve that.”

He looked up at her, blue eyes taking in her expression. It was obvious she had been crying. Her eyes were still a bit swollen and her cheeks just a bit blotchy. While it was true that her reaction the previous evening had stung – still stung, really – he was more hurt by the idea that he'd somehow lost her friendship.

“It's okay,” he finally murmured, turning his attention to petting Fitz.

“It isn't,” Millie contradicted. “I shouldn't have said it.”

“You were upset,” he rationalized.

“And you were already hurt. Don't make excuses for me being an awful friend.”

“You aren't an awful friend,” frowned Ron. He sighed. “Fine. Apology accepted, but I'm sorry, too.”

Millie gave an indelicate scoff. “What are you sorry for?”

The boy shot her a glance, shrugging slightly. “I didn't mean to upset you,” he replied, then raised his voice a bit when she opened her mouth to protest. “And I shouldn't have told you not to tell. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Her mouth snapped shut and she gave a look he wasn't quite sure how to interpret. After a few seconds, she looked down, hands fidgeting in her lap. “You don't have to thank me.” Her tone sounded a bit thick and Ron wondered if she wasn't fighting back more tears. “I'm just glad you're all right.”

“Because of you, Millie,” Ron insisted. “So, thank you.”

Millie lifted her head to meet his gaze again and though her eyes were definitely a bit watery, no fresh tears streaked her face. She mustered up a smile that Ron thought must have cost her something before rising from her seat.

“I'm going to ask if I can eat breakfast with you,” the Slytherin declared, her voice sounding mostly how it usually did. She moved to the door into the main ward. “Want anything special to eat?”

“Not unless you can convince Madam Pomfrey that chocolate ice cream is breakfast food,” said the redhead, scratching under Fitz's chin.

Her expression morphed into a devious grin. “Probably not, but I bet I can smuggle some up from the kitchens,” she declared.

Ron laughed. “Maybe later,” he said. She nodded and disappeared through the door. Ron watched her go, part of him relieved that he hadn't managed to lose his new friend, after all.

0o0o0

The thought had been churning in his mind all day. It was there as he tuned out the year's overly-chatty Defense instructor's rambling as they sat at the staff table at breakfast. Professor Whitcomb hadn't seemed to notice Snape was barely paying attention to him. He never did.

Throughout classes, the thought continued to turn about at the edge of his subconscious. Would it even be a good idea? There was no doubt in his mind that such a thing would come to fruition, but there were others, those who'd probably even be a better option. He had no need to volunteer.

Still his mind gnawed upon the thought like Hagrid's boarhound chewing up a bone. Would any of colleagues truly be a better choice? The Headmaster had responsibilities that often took him from the castle, sometimes for days at a time, which meant that Minerva had to take up the subsequent slack. It was true that Filius could be soothing enough, but he was hardly likely to understand, Ravenclaw or no. Whitcomb was not only doomed to part from the school come the end of the year, but he was highly liable to _talk_ the boy to death.

One by one Snape weighed the candidacy of his fellow staff for this matter and one by one he determined that none of them were better suited than he.

He really must have been getting too little sleep.

Nevertheless, when lessons came to a close that evening, Snape was making his way up to the Headmaster's office. Reaching the stone gargoyle, he uttered the candy of the week and proceeded up the winding stairs when it leapt aside. He rapped his knuckles against the door and entered when beckoned. Inside, Minerva was seated in one of the chair across from the old man at his desk.

“Ah, Severus, my boy,” Albus greeted him. “Do come in. We were just discussing Mr. Weasley's living arrangements.”

He arched a brow, the only sign of his surprise. It did make sense, after all. It was where his own thoughts had been. “Indeed?” he responded as he moved to sit in the empty chair. “It seems I have excellent timing, as I wished to speak of them, myself.”

“You, Severus?” Minerva questioned, giving him a curious look.

“Well, it is apparent that the current arrangements are a bit... lacking,” the Potions Master drawled.

The woman gave a grim nod, a flicker of guilt crossing her features. “Our endeavor to give him space in which to grieve and recover certainly did not pan out as we had hoped,” she acknowledged.

“I am baffled that anyone might have expected otherwise,” Snape scoffed. “He is a teenager. They are notorious for handling unpleasant emotions in ways that are anything but healthy.”

Now, the bloody woman was giving him an understanding sort of look which he just knew meant that she was remembering just how _he_ had chosen to cope all those years before. Diverting his gaze, he nearly wished he hadn't commented. Honestly. Poppy was bad enough. He didn't need Minerva wondering after his current frame of mind, too.

“I presume that he is to be temporarily housed with a member of staff?” He directed the question to Albus.

“That would seem the best course, at this juncture,” the Headmaster confirmed, “until we can be reasonably certain the boy is no longer a danger to himself.”

The Potions Master suppressed a snort at this, thinking derisively that if the boy truly desired to end his own existence, he'd manage to find a way. He didn't say this aloud, of course. Firstly, doing so would undoubtedly turn at least some of their concern upon himself – which he in no way desired. Secondly, he understood the reasoning behind the endeavor, and that it indeed did some good.

Though, in his own case, perhaps not enough.

“You have some thoughts on this matter?” Minerva asked.

Severus gave a short sigh. “I have, in fact, come to offer my services,” he confessed with a note of reluctance. “I realize that I am not, perhaps, the first choice for this, however, it occurs to me that I am in a position to understand what the boy is going through. At least, in part.”

He waited for Minerva to protest. After all, it was one of her precious Gryffindors they were talking about. It never came, however. Instead the woman looked mildly amused.

“Well, that was easier than we thought,” she said to Albus.

“Indeed, I had not quite anticipated this turn of events,” he agreed.

“What on earth are you both talking about?” Severus demanded, mildly discomfited as he'd been fully prepared to justify his reasoning.

“We, too, had concluded that you may be the best candidate to look after young Ronald for the very reason that you suffered a very similar loss at his age,” Albus said. “I am also aware that the boy took refuge in your lab on more than one occasion, and did in fact trust in you enough to seek your help when Miss Bulstrode's cat was poisoned.”

“That could easily have been because I am the Potions Master,” the man pointed out.

“Perhaps,” the Headmaster conceded. “Nevertheless, Minerva and I both agree that, of our options, you may be the most able to help the boy in his recovery.”

“We were just discussing how we might persuade you,” Minerva informed him dryly.

“I see,” Severus said slowly. He couldn't help but feel a bit a suspicious, although perhaps it had just seemed too easy when he'd been expecting resistance. Or the two old fools were up to something besides the well-being of Mr. Weasley. No matter. If they were, he would figure it out later. “Very well. Since we are in agreement, I shall go ready the guest room in my quarters. I trust you will inform the boy of his new arrangements?”

Minerva gave a nod as the younger man looked at her. “I shall speak to him before dinner,” she confirmed.

Giving a nod of his own, Severus rose from his seat and swept towards the door. He gave them a final dubious glance before exiting the room.

The Deputy Headmistress let out a sigh as she turned back towards her employer. “I do know that he has softened some towards the boy – if anything, his coming here has proven that – but are you quite certain he is the right choice to house Mr. Weasley?” she queried. She had a lot of faith in Severus, but he was still the Slytherin Head of House and not precisely known for thinking any too kindly about Gryffindors in general.

“My dear Professor, I do believe this arrangement may prove advantageous to both our boys,” Albus replied candidly. “Perhaps, in time, there shall even be others who might reap the benefits.”

Minerva gave the old man a doubtful look as he plied his attention to selecting a lemon drop from the tin. “I believe you're a little overoptimistic,” she told him.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, popping a candy into his mouth. “But that is half the adventure in life.”

0o0o0

“ _You told them.” The words were embittered and accusing._

“ _Of course I did. I was worried about you! I could see how-”_

“ _You had NO right! It was none of your business!”_

_The girl had lifted her chin, expression stubborn. “Isn't it?” she questioned. “We're best friends. That used to mean that we looked out for each other.”_

“ _Well, thanks to you_ looking out for me _, I get to live with my Head of House – to be..._ babysat _like some bloody child!” the boy ranted._

_She gazed at him a moment, hurt by the way he was addressing her. “Why are you so mad at me for saving your life, Sev?” Her tone drew his attention, and he couldn't help but be dismayed to find there were tears in Lily's eyes._

“ _I don't know!” Severus exclaimed, hands fisting into his hair. “I'm not, but... but I am. I know you were just trying to help by telling the professors a-about the potion and your worries, and part of me is... is glad, but the rest of me is just so mad. You just don't get it! It hurts_ all the time _, Lily! And I just want it to end. Why is that so wrong?!”_

_Lily moved closer to the boy, reaching out a hand to him. Severus smacked it away, although he immediately looked just as stung by his lashing out as the girl. They stared at each other for a moment until something in his expression changed. Then, Lily reached out again, and this time, Severus let his friend pull him into a hug._

“ _I'm here, Sev,” the girl murmured softly, holding him tightly enough that it made him feel real. “Whenever you need me, I'm here. Just talk to me..”_

0o0o0

The boy was seated cross-legged atop the bedclothes, a textbook opened in front of him. His elbows rested atop his knees and he had the hem of each shirtsleeve fisted in his hands. It was as though he were unconsciously trying to prevent the scarred flesh of his forearms from being seen. He was currently alone, likely because his friends would just be getting out of their respective classes.

Minerva moved over to his bedside and the teen lifted his gaze to look at her. “Feeling any better?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Ron replied, shifting uncomfortably. “Sorta.”

She nodded as though she understood. Ron doubted she did. He appreciated that she then went directly to the reason for her visit.

“The Headmaster and the rest of staff feel that it would be best if you have different housing arrangements,” his Head of House informed him kindly. “Just until you are able to... cope better than you have been.”

_Until they think I'm not about to kill myself anymore,_ Ron thought a bit resentfully. It didn't really surprise him. He had figured they would want to be keeping an eye on him. He was resigned to his fate.

“So, am I...” The words caught in his throat a bit, as the idea alone still made his heart ache from the memories. “Am I going back to the dorm, now?”

McGonagall shook her head. “Not just yet, Ron. We believe it would be better for you to reside with a staff member, for now. That way, someone is there if you need them but you will still be able to have a bit of extra privacy.”

That gave Ron pause and for a minute, he was intensely interested in his shirt cuffs. “Who?” the youth questioned hesitantly. “Who will I be staying with?”

“Professor Snape has offered the spare room in his quarters,” the professor answered gingerly.

Ron offered no immediate response. He rubbed the fabric of his shirt between a thumb and forefinger as his Head of House patiently waited. No doubt she was waiting for the same thing he was: the horror, the protesting, maybe even an outright refusal. Yet, to Ron's own surprise, or perhaps he wasn't surprised at all, the only thing he seemed to be feeling was relief.

Snape had been treating him differently, but unlike everyone else, he hadn't been acting like he was made of spun glass. In fact, the man seemed to know just what he needed. Or at least he had the few times he'd offered him the distraction of his lab.

Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing ever. (As though that title wasn't already taken.)

“Okay,” he finally nodded.

“Okay?” McGonagall seemed a bit surprised by his easy acquiescence.

“Yeah. Um, should I..? I'm not sure where his quarters are, actually. Are they near his office?” Ron gave the woman a questioning look.

“I believe Professor Snape plans to collect you after Madam Pomfrey releases you this evening,” the professor replied.

“Oh. All right.” said the teen.

“Very well,” the woman said briskly. “Should you have need of anything, remember you may still come to me, regardless of where you live.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She reached out to briefly lay a hand on the boy's shoulder, nodding by way of emphasizing her offer. Then, she left. Ron sprawled back onto his pillow, book forgotten as he wondered just when he'd stop loathing the Potions Master.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Cautionary Trigger Warning for a passing reference to suicide and blood_

As anticipated, when Madam Pomfrey released Ron from the Hospital Wing that evening, Professor Snape was there to collect him. The man hadn't said much, though neither had Ron. Snape had escorted him to the room he'd been staying in so he could collect his things. As he packed up his belongings, the teen couldn't help but notice that his potions kit was missing.

He wasn't surprised.

Closing the door behind him for what was likely the last time, the key hanging on the hook just inside, Ron couldn't help but feel that he was losing something. The redhead shot a glance towards the corner where that hallway and the next met up. Somewhere on that other hall was Millie's room. Ron never did know which one. Even though he knew the girl wasn't mad at him, moving farther away from her again filled him with an odd sense of trepidation.

"Come along," Snape's voice broke him from his contemplation. Ron fell in step behind the man, his trunk floating along after them.

They descended down to the first floor, then the ground floor, continuing on to the dungeons. It occurred to the teen that he was about to see the inside of the Potions Master's quarters – something, that to his knowledge, no other student had seen before.

Ron wondered what sight would greet him. Would Snape's rooms be like his classroom, or more like his office? Like many of his fellow students, he had often speculated that the man's private quarters must be filled with all manner of gruesome potions ingredients stacked onto shelves interspersed with a number of dark artifacts, perhaps complete with cobwebs and live bats.

Amused by these thoughts, Ron almost missed when they passed by the Potions classroom and Snape's office. Passing by the lab they had worked in together the times Ron had taken the man up on his offer, they rounded a corner, turning in the opposite direction of what the Slytherins took on their way to their dorm.

A final turn brought them to a dead end, the wall of which was adorned by a portrait. Its subject was a young woman with a dark mane of hair and keen hazel eyes. She was seated in a chair, elbows propped upon a smaller frame within her portrait. Curled around one of her arms, head raised above her fingers was an adder, its red eyes focused upon the two wizards while its tongue flicked out as though to smell them. The woman peered at Ron with interest.

"Is this your new house guest, Severus?" she queried in a pleasing alto. "I can see how you would tolerate him more than others. He shares your sadness. I can see it in his eyes." This caused Ron to shoot a curious glance at his professor, but the man was giving the portrait an impatient glare.

"Nalaia, this is Ronald Weasley," Snape informed her, swinging the smaller frame away from the wall to reveal a dark green hand print underneath. "As you have ascertained, he will be living in my quarters until further notice. You will grant him access. Do be on your guard, however, he has a friend with an invisibility cloak." The man motioned for the boy to place his hand against the print.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ronald," said the painting. "I am Nalaia. Nalaia Slytherin."

"Slytherin?!" Ron echoed in surprise, nearly pulling his hand from the wall. Snape grabbed him by the wrist to keep his hand in place, continuing to murmur in Latin and wave his wand in order to key the boy to his wards. He seemed intent to pay little mind to Ron's conversation with the painting.

Nalaia gave a laugh. It was warm and mellow. "I am, of course, Salazar's granddaughter," she told the teen. "Or was, anyhow. Just a portrait, now."

"Uh... It's nice to meet you, too," Ron replied, still feeling a bit off-balance by the revelation. His professor finished what he was doing and Nalaia's portrait obediently swung back into the wall to reveal a short entryway beyond.

She gave him an impish grin, turning her attention to her snake as she stroked its scales. "I like this boy, Severus. He's amusing," she addressed the man. "I shall be seeing you, Ronald – and do tell me if you bring your friend with the invisibility cloak around. I should love to learn what mischief you've all been up to."

"You may close, now," Snape told her a bit pointedly as he ushered his student into his quarters. The portrait closed with the sound of hissing as Nalaia spoke to her snake.

"I didn't know Slytherin had a granddaughter," Ron said, looking back over his shoulder as though he could still see the woman.

"He had granddaughters and several other descendants," his professor drawled. "How else would he have had an heir?"

"Oh," the boy murmured softly. That made sense. He turned to face the living room of Snape's quarters and froze, blue eyes widening. It looked so... boring.

A beige sofa and a plaid chair sat facing the fireplace, a somewhat scarred wooden coffee table sitting atop the sage-colored rug between them. On the left-hand wall stood a large bookcase filled with books while the opposite wall bore a tapestry with a coat of arms Ron didn't recognize, the large letter P leaving the boy further baffled. Across from the fireplace, near the ceiling with its bottom level with the ground outside, was a small window, just large enough for an owl to pass through. The open archway beside the tapestry clearly led into the kitchen, which Snape soon confirmed.

"Other there is the kitchen and dining area," the man said with a wave of his hand. "As I seldom eat in my quarters, you will be expected to attend meals in the Great Hall, although you are welcome to help yourself to tea or whatever snacks you may find in there."

"Yes, sir," Ron said when it was clear his professor was waiting for a response.

Snape moved to the hallway next to the bookshelf, gesturing to the door that had been visible from the sitting room. "The bathroom," he said as he kept walking, then indicated the only door on the right, "My private lab – the one we worked in before. I prefer you did not go in there when I am not present, or without my express permission. The doorway at the end leads to my bedroom. You will always knock before entering. You will likely only find me there at night.

"And this, shall be your room." The man opened the second door on the left, motioning the boy inside.

If the main room hadn't been anywhere near what Ron had expected, this was even farther off. Not only was it normal, but the room was decorated in blues and yellows, the walls painted in soothing but definitely colorful shades. The bed was a four-poster like the ones in the dorms, the hangings dark navy in color and the duvet covered in varying stripes of blue and yellow. A thick brown rug covered the middle of the floor, leaving room for a desk, wardrobe, and small bookshelf. The room was practically _cheery_.

"Is the room not to your liking?" Snape drawled when he didn't say anything.

"No!" Ron shook his head, as much in denial as to try to focus. "It's just, uh, I was expecting something a little different, is all."

The man arched an eyebrow.

"Sir," the boy added hastily.

"Not as many cobwebs as you expected?" the Potions Master asked sardonically. "That can be arranged, of course, though from what I've heard tell, you're not precisely a fan of spiders."

"It's fine, Professor," Ron said quickly, not entirely convinced the man wasn't being serious. "Thank you, sir."

Snape gave him a long look. "If you would prefer a different color scheme-" he began.

"No, thank you. I kind of like it how it is," the teen replied.

"Very well," the man said with a nod. He directed the boy's trunk to settle beside the wardrobe. "I shall leave you to get settled in."

"Yes, professor," Ron responded as the Potions Master departed, closing the door behind him. The redhead looked around the room once more, with its completely non-depressing color theme. He might not have _really_ expected there to be bats and skulls and the like, but he at least thought there'd be a lot more green or black, maybe. "This is weird," he muttered to himself. Shaking his head, he moved to start putting things into their new places.

0o0o0

_Teddy was grabbing her by the arm, forcing her to face him. "He's not him!" the boy hissed._

" _I_ know _," she insisted. She tried to twist her arm from his grasp, only it wasn't her arm, it was Ron's, and she herself was the one clinging determinedly to his wrist. She shoved at his sleeve._

_A hand was mussing her short hair, although her hair hadn't been all that short since she was twelve. "Stop fretting, Mills," Nick told her, voice lilting teasingly even as his blue eyes peered at her reassuringly. "I'll be fine. I promise."_

_Her small bare feet moved quietly across the hardwood towards the frantic cat._

" _Why are you sitting here?" Ron was demanding, although no sooner was she peering across at him than she was practically skipping beside him, Fitz cradled safely in her arms._

_She grinned up at him. "I'm going to be a good friend for you, Ron."_

" _He's not him, you know," Teddy said again, tone soft this time, but she was already shaking her head in denial._

" _Please, you have to help him. You need to stop him," she sobbed desperately. "I can't lose him, too..."_

" _Don't tell, okay?" Nick was speaking, but she couldn't look him in the eyes, her stricken gaze fixed upon the blood staining the tile. "I'm going to stop. I won't do it again. Promise."_

_She had reached the bathroom door, desperately trying to turn the handle. It wouldn't budge. Horror building within her, she started pounding against the wood. "RON!" she screamed frantically, shoving against the door with all her might. "RON!"_

Millie jerked awake, gasping as she sat bolt-right up in bed. She pressed a hand over her heart as she tried to slow her own breathing. Ron was okay. He was okay. He was with Professor Snape in his quarters. The man wouldn't let him-

A scared keening escaped her lips despite herself. It was still too fresh, too real. Their blue eyes were practically the same and red hair was not so very different from brown in some lights.

Hands covering her face, Millie curled in on herself. Sobs soon wracked her body. She should have told someone. It was all her fault. If only she had _told_ someone...

But she hadn't. Not the first time, and even the second time, she'd nearly been too slow.

Tormented by these thoughts, she drifted back into a restless slumber.

0o0o0

The next morning, Ron made his way out of his professor's quarters. The man himself was nowhere to be seen, so the teen assumed he was already in the Great Hall. Nalaia had bid him a good day as he exited into the corridor, and after a short hesitation, Ron thanked her and went on his way. It was odd to be leaving from the dungeons. Previously, the only times he had even been in the dungeons was for a class or detention, now he was living there.

He encountered a couple of older Slytherins when he reached the main corridor. Ron had halted, gazing at them warily. One of them, a perfect, spared him a glance, but neither she nor her companion had any real interest in him and continued on their way without a word to the displaced Gryffindor. After a moment, he trailed along in their wake.

Millie was waiting for him outside the Great Hall. It was a bit earlier than she usually got around for the day, but there she was. Ron wondered how long she'd been waiting on him.

A bit of tension seemed to leave the girl's shoulders when she spotted him and she offered him a brief smile. "Good morning," she said.

"Morning," Ron returned, falling in step next to her. His brows furrowed a bit as they moved to the Gryffindor table in silence. It wasn't that they always talked, but it seemed to him that the girl was far more subdued than she'd been since Fitz had been poisoned. Granted, after what had so recently happened, he supposed he couldn't blame her.

"So, I see you haven't been turned into potions ingredients, yet," Millie spoke up, her tone light as she started to dish some food onto her plate.

Ron gave a soft laugh. "Not yet," he agreed, mirroring her actions. "There's probably still time."

The Slytherin gave a snort, finally seeming more like herself. "Just don't do anything to tempt the man. He _is_ the Head of Slytherin House, you know. If anyone could hide the evidence..." She took a bite out of her toast, chewing and swallowing quickly, before she continued. "So, tell me about Snape's quarters, already. More like his office or his classroom?"

Without further prompting, Ron launched into a description of the Potions professor's disappointingly normal living space. He was just detailing the oddly cheery color scheme in his own room, when Harry and Hermione hurried into the hall.

His two best friends had been alarmed when Ron had told them about his new living arrangements before dinner the night before. In previous years, their concern would not only have seemed warranted but would also have been wholly endorsed by the redhead. Something had changed, however, at least in regards to how the Potions Master was around him. Ron couldn't quite put a finger on what and he hadn't spent a lot of time thinking on it, but it was there.

Despite how well he'd taken the news himself – or perhaps, because he had taken it so well – Ron knew his friends would be anxious to follow up with him that morning. In fact, he had been a little surprised they hadn't been awaiting his arrival like Millie had. Ron was guessing that had been more Harry's doing than Hermione's.

The other two Gryffindors stopped behind the redhead, where they hesitated uncertainly. Hermione gave Millie a wary glance, her hands fidgeting as she clearly deliberated whether they should sit. Harry had just opened his mouth, no doubt to diffuse the awkward quiet that had settled over the group, when apparently the Slytherin had enough.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," Millie snapped, practically throwing her half-eaten toast down onto her plate. "Will you just bloody sit, already? What am I going to do, hex you for sitting at your own damned table? I do have a brain, you know, Granger. I did manage to work out that you and Green Eyes happen to be Ron's friends. You think I didn't figure I might sometimes end up sitting with you guys? Bloody hell.

"You know what, just – never mind. I'm going to take my chances with my 'Huffle bestie.' See you in class, Ron." With that, the black-haired girl rose from her seat, snatching up her plate and relocating to the next table over. Laura-Belle Gant – Ron presumed – let out a happy squeal as Millie sat down beside her, throwing her arms around the Slytherin, who stiffened uncomfortably at the contact.

Hermione lowered herself onto the bench beside Ron, clearly put off. "Oh, I see how you're friends, now," she muttered sarcastically.

"Hermione," Harry admonished quietly, taking a seat himself. He shot a glance at the Slytherin in question before turning his gaze back to Ron. "She does have a point, though. Bulstrode's not exactly, uh, friendly."

Blue eyes fixed on the back of his newest friend's head, Ron could only frown, feeling perplexed. Something was wrong. Everything had been normal again for a moment, but then it had changed. He'd thought Millie wasn't mad at him any more, but clearly she was. Unless there was something else, but what? What would make her turn back into Bulstrode again so suddenly?

"She's not usually like that," Ron said softly when he noticed his friends were still looking at him inquiringly. "Guess maybe she's still upset."

The other two shared a look, but apparently agreed not to comment. Instead, as Millicent had but a short while before, they asked about his new living arrangements. With less enthusiasm, Ron recounted the tale again.

0o0o0

" _Entrar!_ " a feminine voice called pleasantly in response to his knocks.

Severus entered the first-floor office, noting that it was still in a state of disarray with boxes everywhere and seemingly nothing put away. Amid all the mess was a rather petite witch garbed in a muggle t-shirt and jeans. She possessed a riotous mass of curls which she was presently tying back from her face as she turned to face him, her dark eyes seeming to take quick assessment of the man.

"Healer Jimenez," he began.

"Anita, please," the woman corrected.

"Anita," the Potions Master acquiesced. "I am-"

But she cut him off, stepping awkwardly over a box in order to peer down at one of the parchments on her desk. "No, don't tell me! You are... Severus Snape. The Potions Professor, yes?" She grinned at him, clearly certain of her accuracy. Her English was spoken with a noticeable Scottish brogue.

"That is correct," Snape responded, feeling a bit testy. He did not appreciate being interrupted. "I know that you are still settling into your office here, but as it is my understanding that you will start seeing Mr. Weasley over the winter break, I came to inquire when I should send him to see you."

"You're right. The Headmaster said that they'd considered not having me start until the new term, but felt that it would be best to have Ronald begin sessions with me sooner rather than later, especially since the previous Mind Healer had so little success with the boy," Anita confirmed. "Granted, between you and me, the other gave up too easily. Traumatized children are very slow to open up to a stranger. Traumatized anyone are slow to open up."

"Of course. And the best time to have him come see you?" the Professor prompted a bit impatiently.

"Right. Sorry. I will be here every Sunday from here on from 10 a.m. until six at night, and then Mondays and Thursdays from 4 p.m. until eight," the woman finally replied. "Naturally, if I am needed at any other time, the Headmaster knows how to contact me. I would be happy to give you my contact details, as well, as you may need them."

Snape could see the sense in this. After all, he was for all intents and purposes the boy's temporary guardian until he moved out of his quarters. "Very well," he agreed. "I thank you."

"Not at all," Anita said cheerfully as she found a blank piece of parchment and a self-inking quill. "I don't suppose you have a bit of time, just now?" she asked as she straightened back up, folding the parchment in half.

"I suppose, although I daresay there isn't much I can tell you about the boy other than what I've observed," the man told her, accepting the parchment.

The Healer gave a short laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, no, no. Anything more I should need to know about Ronald I should be able to get from him," she said. "I actually wanted to ask about you. When do you think our sessions should start?"

Snape stared at her. "I will not be having sessions with you," he said.

"Hmm. Is that so?" she responded doubtfully. "Your mediwitch disagrees."

"Regardless of what that meddling woman believes, I have neither need nor desire to have my head shrunk," the man snarled. The gall of Poppy, suggesting he speak to someone. It was nobody's business! None but his.

Anita canted her head to one side, not the least bit fazed by his less than cordial response. "I think you'll find it's not optional," she said. "I mean, I can't force you to talk, of course, but the Headmaster seems to want you here about as much as Madam Pomfrey. Don't worry, though. The room will be much tidier by the time we start our sessions. When do you think you'll be by?"

"I shall send Mr. Weasley to you at ten o'clock on Sunday," Snape bit out.

"And shall I expect you that afternoon, or would you prefer Monday evening?" she questioned boldly.

"Neither," the Potions Master hissed. "I shall be speaking to the Headmaster about this." In a swirl of robes he strode towards the door.

"Monday it is, then. I'll pencil you in as soon as I find my calendar. Six o'clock?"

Snape didn't deign to answer. He would most certainly be speaking to Albus about this – and that blasted mediwitch!


End file.
